


Weekend Plans

by Paraprosdokia (ChangeableConsistency)



Series: Unconnected Phil Coulson Fics [17]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Be Careful What You Wish For, Body Worship, Breathplay, Butt Plugs, Clint is a closet exhibitionist, Cock & Ball Torture, Cock Warming, Consensual Non-Consent, Consensual Somnophilia, Deaf Clint Barton, Dom Phil Coulson, Enema Discussion, Face-Fucking, Fake indifference, Faux Voyeurism, Feelings, Food Sex, Free Use, Gags, Humiliation, Inspection, Limit Pushing, M/M, Melodrama, Mind Games, Mirror Sex, OOpS!, Orgasm Denial, PWP, Painslut Clint, Reverse feltching, Rimming, Shaving, Spanking, Sub Clint Barton, blowjob, but not really, but with a low pain tolerance, crawling, is there a term for that?, so much edging, stress positions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:15:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25159831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChangeableConsistency/pseuds/Paraprosdokia
Summary: Just a little smut.The game is: Clint’s supposed to just keep doing whatever it was he was doing whenever Phil wants to fuck him.This is going to be awesome.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Phil Coulson
Series: Unconnected Phil Coulson Fics [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1709944
Comments: 46
Kudos: 205





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was in my folder as ‘Commercial Break’ but a) commercials aren’t really a thing anymore, are they? And b) the whole point is that Phil wants Clint to keep watching his show while Phil uses him.

“Up over the couch.”

“What? Noooo, come on Phil. Can I at least pause this?” 

“Keep watching.”

“Are you seri— I can’t—”

“You know I don’t like to be kept waiting.”

Clint groans and huffs as he throws off the blanket he’s been using, blankets and the like being allowed. He didn’t actually need it, the apartment was warmer than they normally kept it in deference to the weekend’s rules, specifically the one where Clint isn’t supposed to be wearing anything other than his cuffs and collar.

 _‘Oh, and that,’_ Clint thinks with a grimace as Phil removes the plug that will be his constant companion until tomorrow night. 

He doesn’t have time to adjust to the sudden emptiness when Phil is pushing into him, no fingers to check and make sure he’s still slick, no murmured words of reassurance, just his thick cock sinking into Clint’s ass, and then Phil’s teeth are on his ear, careful of his BTE but rough with his tender skin, “I said, ‘keep watching’.”

Clint moans but tries to ignore the way Phil starts brutally thrusting in and out, fucking Clint without a care for Clint’s pleasure, using him solely to slake his own lust but the very action of him using Clint this way has Clint’s own cock filling and he tries to ignore it, too, knowing that unless it suits Phil’s whims he may not get to come until tomorrow night or if he’s really unlucky Monday. 

He pushes back at one point and Phil slaps his ass, “Quit that. You know this isn’t for you.”

He tries, really tries to pay attention to the television, IA is hot on Sgt. Whisker’s tail and Clint isn’t sure how he’s going to get out of this one, but Phil is fucking him so good his eyes roll back and then it’s over far too soon as Phil comes without warning. He pants into Clint’s ear for a couple heartbeats and Clint bites his lip as he keeps from squeezing his ass the way he wants to; then Phil is slipping out of him with a squelching feeling. Phil wipes his cock off on Clint’s ass and isn’t exactly gentle plugging him back up.

Phil walks away without another word and Clint collapses over the back of the couch, needing a few seconds to keep from touching his aching dick, sure if he does he won’t be able to keep from coming; and while it could be interesting to see what Phil would come up with if he breaks that rule, something suspiciously like pride keeps him from giving in.

He pretends not to notice the shadow at the crack of the bedroom door as he heads to the kitchen to grab a paper towel and try to clean up a little. It makes him feel warm inside, knowing that even with the game they're playing Phil’s looking after him.

He gets settled back on the couch wrapped in his not really cheating blanket and propping his ankles up on the coffee table, the D rings of his ankle cuff clinking on the glass top. He rewinds his show but as he watches Sgt. Whiskers chase down an informant, his flagging erection comes back full force as sense memory overwhelms him and he realizes he’s never going to be able to watch this episode again without thinking about this weekend. 

Just like Phil planned.

It’s going to be a long weekend. 

Clint’s looking forward to it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I guess there’s more porn? Sorry, I might have gotten a little feelings in there. Oops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note the added tags.

“Come in here,” Phil calls from the bedroom.

Clint’s been pretending to watch the rest of the episode but his mind is stuck on the way Phil fucked him over the couch and all the other ways Phil might use him, and at this point he’s just resigned himself to the constant aching ‘wish I could come’ feeling.

He drops the blanket on the couch and stretches then gives himself a couple good strokes, which makes him feel both better and worse and then guilty knowing he’s not to pleasure himself unless it’s for Phil’s amusement.

He’ll have to tell on himself now and he winces, wishing they had decided on some other punishment.

Clint pauses in the doorway, taken back from the sight of Phil fresh from the shower, little beads of water dotting his skin, and Clint’s mouth waters and he wants to go to his knees at the sight, all thoughts of confessing fleeing his mind, “Yes, Sir?”

“Help me dry off.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“What are you doing?” Phil asks as Clint’s fingers push between the towel and his skin; before Clint can start to undo the towel Phil catches the D ring on Clint’s cuff and yanks his hand away, “Use your mouth.”

“My—? Oh! Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

“Don’t thank me, just get to work.”

“Yes, S—,” the last bit is muffled as Phil grabs the back of his head and pulls Clint down to his shoulder. Clint moans and starts licking the little droplets. He follows the trail, licking and sucking his way up to Phil’s neck, crying out when he spends too much time sucking on Phil’s earlobe and Phil yanks him by the hair to his other side.

Now Clint makes his way in reverse, starting with Phil’s other ear, tempted to prolong his now biting kisses there, knowing how much of an erogenous zone it is for Phil, but he remembers he’s going to be in enough trouble as it is once he tells Phil about touching himself, doubly so for not telling him sooner, but he doesn’t want this to turn into a punishment scene and while it’s not supposed to be about what he wants, he also knows that would interrupt whatever it is that Phil has planned, so he contents himself with raking his teeth down Phil’s neck and promising to tell Phil as soon as this scene is done.

He kisses over to the hollow of Phil’s throat then up to rest his teeth against Phil’s Adam’s apple while Clint strokes it with his tongue and Phil’s moan vibrates against his mouth, causing Clint to moan in turn.

He nuzzles Phil’s chest through the thick forest of hair, dark with just a few sprinklings of silver, finding and sucking on each of his nipples.

Clint starts to go to his knees to follow Phil’s treasure trail when Phil stops him by grabbing his collar, “Back first.”

“Aww,” Clint grumbles sadly, having wanted to get his mouth on Phil’s cock in the worst way; though it’s not all bad, it gives Clint a second pass at Phil’s neck and shoulders, and Phil has a fantastic back, “Yes, Sir.”

He takes as much care with Phil’s back as he had his front, though Phil’s dry now so there’s no more water to chase. He strokes his thumbs up and down the small of Phil’s back above the towel, teasing along the edge. He has to bend over at the waist as he kisses down Phil’s spine and Clint swallows his short moan (It wasn’t a whine. It wasn’t.) at the way the plug shifts inside him.

Phil turns and pushes down on Clint’s shoulder, finally letting him go to his knees, “Stay open.”

Clint whimpers in disappointment. It’s not that he’s against the type of face fucking he’s about to receive, it’s just that he was really looking forward to sucking Phil’s cock. He loves the way it feels keeping his lips stretched and his tongue busy, getting the suction just right; there’s an art to it and Clint knows he’s a master.

Phil using him like this almost feels like a waste and he shudders, knowing this is exactly how Phil wants him to feel. 

Keeping his jaw loose, letting the spit run down his chin as he gags around Phil’s cock forcing its way into his throat, his eyes watering; it’s a firm reminder that this isn’t for him (except in all the ways that it’s exactly that).

Clint loses track of time and for a while all that exists is the soft carpet beneath his knees, Phil’s hands holding his head in place and the thick length of his cock battering Clint’s throat. It’s all he can do to concentrate on breathing and when he gets into that zone it’s like he could do this forever, just a warm hole for Phil to sate himself on. 

His own cock is flushed and dripping when Phil finally pulls back and Clint pants; Phil isn’t coming down his throat so Clint expects him to come on his face, but instead he grabs Clint by the collar and sort of throws him onto the bed and that will never not be hot. 

Phil gets on the bed between Clint and the headboard; lying back he grabs his thighs behind his knees and spreads his legs, “Get to it, slut.”

Oh-God-oh-fuck, he’s going to come, he’s going to come he’s going to— but no, he manages to hold back, not using his hands, feeling Phil’s eyes on him, bright and cruel and delighted.

His breathing and dick under control, grateful for the chance to recover he dives in, elbows and knees on the bed and face between Phil’s legs. 

Phil smells like warm skin with slightly sweet citrus notes from their body wash and Clint moans as he gets his tongue on Phil’s hole and he tastes just a hint of muskiness. He glories the feeling of Phil’s pucker against his tongue and he rubs it up and down then side by side before swirling his tongue. 

Phil grabs his hair, damp with sweat by now, and tugs sharply causing bright sparkles of pain and Clint corkscrews his tongue past the tight circle of Phil’s hole, not stopping until Phil moans and Clint starts thrusting his tongue in and out. 

When he starts to feel the strain of that he pulls back and laps his way up behind Phil’s balls, daring to suck one into his mouth and feels a wave of pleasure as Phil lets him. He switches to the other one, using a little teeth and he has the gain up on his ears so he hears it when Phil whispers, “So good,” and Clint flushes, knowing he wasn’t supposed to hear it, that one of the things they had set up beforehand was no praise and Clint hadn’t realized how hard that would be for Phil until this moment. 

God, the ways he loves this man.

Phil pushes down on his head and Clint massages Phil’s prostate through his taint, earning a strangled, “ _Clint._ ”

He keeps at it even as Phil continues to tug on his hair, not feeling him pull in any particular direction, just pulling Clint’s hair because he wants to, because he knows how it makes Clint feel and Clint whimpers but doesn’t stop. 

When Phil’s moans even out, indicating that he’s started to get used to the feeling, Clint sucks his way back down to Phil’s asshole. He nips at him, just to one side of Phil’s hole, knowing how sensitive it is now; also knowing the little sparks of not quite pain will enhance Phil’s pleasure.

He gets lost again; the warmth of Phil’s thighs and the taste of him, he starts rhythmically rocking his hips until a sharper than the others tug reminds him that this isn’t supposed to be for him, that his pleasure doesn’t matter and he starts to cry a little bit at the overwhelming sensation of holding himself back while continuing to enthusiastically eat Phil’s ass.

When Phil finally, _finally,_ pulls him back Clint’s relief outweighs his disappointment. Just barely.

“Open,” Phil orders him again as he gets to his knees; Clint stays on his aching elbows and knees and looks up at Phil with wide eyes, his mouth open and his tongue resting on his lower lip. He’s not sure he can take another face fucking like before but that doesn’t mean he won’t give it his all.

Phil surprises him again, smacking his cock against Clint’s cheeks and then only resting the wet tip of his cock on Clint’s tongue, “Swallow it all; I don’t want you to leave a mess.”

Clint whimpers and holds still as Phil strokes his cock, his fingers making a tight ring, his index finger barely past the tip of his thumb.

“Just like that, Clint, stay right there sweet— slut,” Phil corrects himself from saying sweetheart and it’s as endearing as it is exciting, “Take it, take it, take it— Fuck!”

He comes across Clint’s tired tongue and against the back of his throat and Clint’s glad Phil warned him as he’s able to keep himself from choking. With a final groan Phil finishes and wipes his cock off on Clint’s cheek leaving one last spurt of sticky come. 

“Swallow.”

Clint does so with a shiver, feeling like he was made for this, made for taking Phil’s cock and his come, letting Phil use his body however he sees fit and he wallows in it. 

Phil collapses back onto the bed and Clint takes it as permission to do the same, his face buried in the sheets. They lay like that for a while catching their breath, their bearings, then Phil’s foot is on Clint’s shoulder and he literally kicks Clint out of bed where he falls in a tangle of limbs. 

So hot. 

“Go clean yourself up. You’re filthy. I left you something on the counter for when you're done showering.”

Clint twists to get up and Phil says, “I didn’t say you could stand up. Crawl.”

Clint whines low in the back of his throat; Phil knows that Clint hates crawling, hates the way it makes him feel, clumsy and humiliated and that’s exactly why Phil does it. Clint doesn’t even think of his safeword though as he starts crawling to the bathroom, his entire body flushed with embarrassment in the mirrored closet door and he looks away as he feels himself starting to cry again, tears leaking down his face and soft sobs catching in his throat. 

Phil scoffs when Clint gets about halfway there and says, “Nevermind. You look ridiculous,” and Clint’s lets out a louder sob, not sure if he’s going to come or die or both but he catches Phil’s reflection staring at him hungrily, his cock already half hard _again_ and it’s like he’s some kind of machine, but Clint can tell he thinks Clint is anything but ridiculous and he squeezes his hands in the carpet and lowers his head as he’s overcome with emotion. 

Phil doesn’t push him, let’s him take his time, but he can feel Phil’s eyes on him the entire while and it makes everything that much harder and better. 

When he has control of himself he stands up slowly, still blushing, almost more embarrassed to be walking now than he was crawling with Phil’s taunt in his ears.

He leaves the bathroom door open, knowing Phil will give him his privacy but wanting to give Clint the illusion of being completely exposed to Phil in every way and lets out a plaintive, “Noooooo,” at the plug he sees there. 

It’s no bigger than the one inside him now, maybe a little smaller in fact, but it has a wicked curve that presses into Clint’s prostate, rubbing it every time he so much as twitches. He grabs the edges of the counter and presses his forehead against the mirror and tries to remind himself that he asked for this. 

Begged if he’s being honest. 

He just hadn’t imagined it would be this difficult.

He hears Phil in the kitchen starting on dinner and gets a move on; he doesn’t want to keep Phil waiting. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I *think* there’s only one more chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry this keeps getting bigger. I think I accidentallied a whole plot. 
> 
> This was only supposed to be ~500 words, I swear.
> 
> Someone needs to take my Docs app away from me.
> 
> I’m going to try to get the last (fingers crossed, hopefully last) chapter up tomorrow, but I have plans to be high all day and watch movies, so maybe not until Monday.
> 
> Please note that the tags have been updated again.

Phil is a ‘clean as you go’ type of cook— of course he is, which means when Clint finally walks out, the tawse held behind his back, each step sharp with pleasure, there’s nothing on the counter other than a couple of bowls of marinating vegetables waiting to go into the oven.

Phil finishes wiping down the island and dries his hands, then raises his eyebrow when he sees Clint hovering by the counter.

Clint bites his lip and gets to his knees with a shaky breath— God, he thought walking was bad; every movement is a reminder of why they’ve only used this plug in bed in the past. He’s not actually sure he’s going to be able to take this all night; or, fuck, longer?

He knows he won’t be able to get any sleep with this plug in and he mentally crosses his fingers hoping that isn’t what Phil has planned, the fear of it giving him its own little thrill.

But he can tell he’s been distracting himself by Phil’s stern look and Clint offers up the tawse, the thick leather strap isn’t much more than a foot long, but with its split end it delivers more sting than any else Clint’s felt in his life.

It’s an intense amount of pain, but only while it’s happening; it fades to a warm glow rather quickly and then there’s a pleasant soreness that lasts for a couple hours. 

But, _fuck_ , that initial sting is brutal. 

Phil sighs and rolls his eyes, “What did you do?”

“I’m sorry, Sir. I was bad.”

Phil huffs, “Obviously. What did you _do.”_

“I took pleasure in myself. I stroked my cock twice without permission,” he bows his head, “I’m sorry, Sir.”

“Two, then; brace yourself against the counter,” Phil takes the tawse from him, “Maybe you’ll remember showers are for filthy sluts like you to get clean for my use,” he says, as if Clint were interchangeable with any other sub and that feeling twists inside Clint in an all too painful way and he squeezes his eyes shut because he knows Phil doesn’t mean it, but he _could._

Phil sighs, “I guess I’ll just have to give you a thorough cleaning myself next time. Inside and out.”

Clint shivers at the images that brings; they’ve talked about enema play but it’s a soft limit for Clint and he’s not sure he’s ready to have it pushed.

Of course the shiver shimmies that fucking plug and Clint gasps.

When Clint doesn’t stand Phil asks with more concern than he probably means to, “Clint?”

“It wasn’t in the shower, Sir. It was before; after you fucked me over the couch,” his ass squeezes almost involuntarily and he feels himself begin to sweat as his hard cock bounces and he has to clench his fists to keep from… he doesn’t know. 

Something. 

“And you’re just telling me now?” Phil’s got his voice back under control, coming across both cold and disappointed, “Double then, for waiting. And I want you to stand up and grab your ankles.”

He can’t seem to make himself move until Phil says, “Don’t make me double it again. I’ve got better things to do then correct your disobedient ass.”

And that does it, though whether it’s the threat of more strikes or the disdain in Phil’s tone Clint couldn’t say for sure.

He stands and turns around before bending over and wrapping his fingers around the cuffs at his ankles, one finger hooking into a D ring as if holding on to it will give him some measure of security.

If anything this position makes that futzing plug even worse and maybe this was a bad idea, to try to combine the plug and the tawse; maybe he should say something but the thought is fleeting, once he takes a couple breaths the intensity wanes and his body language must relax because that’s exactly when Phil strikes; the leather slapping perfectly across his taut cheeks.

“MOTHER _FUCKER_!”

“Clint?” Phil keeps his concern out of his voice this time, sounding chiding instead, and it helps ground Clint. He takes a breath and discreetly signs, «OKAY,» then grabs his ankle again.

Phil takes him at his word and you would think being prepared for it would make the next one easier, “ _FUCK!_ Fuck me,” but not so much.

Phil gives him a couple seconds to enjoy the throb that follows the sting. Clint shifts a little when he’s ready, which: mistake, as it reminds him of the plug and he can’t believe he had forgotten about it.

The next one he just grits his teeth and half yells/half snarls through, then moans at the wave of pleasure in the aftermath of the tawse and the way the plug moves when he unclenches.

“AAH!” The last one is just as bad/good as the first and he hates it and it’s perfect.

Phil rubs his ass and it feels so good he moans and pushes back and he wonders that will be enough for Phil; he usually needs to give a lot of comfort after a punishment scene and while it will break the illusion he hopes Phil will safeword if he needs to.

Or, hell, Phil’s good enough he could probably stick within the boundaries of this weekend’s scenario and ‘make’ Clint take some aftercare.

“On your knees,” Clint sighs in relief and not at all in disappointment, then has a full body flinch when Phil follows up with, “Crawl to the couch.”

“Sir?” Clint begs, but as suspected gets no reprieve.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” Phil says, tapping Clint’s shoulder with the tawse.

Not eager to feel it’s sting again, Clint starts crawling to the couch, feeling he might die every step of the way, though from lust or shame he couldn’t say.

It doesn’t help that Phil taps his throbbing ass with that damned strip of leather the entire way, Clint whimpering with every inch.

Phil sits down and throws a pillow onto the floor between his feet before unzipping his pants and pulling himself out, already hard from the spanking or the day or any number of things, Clint isn’t sure what’s going on in his own head, much less in Phil’s, “Keep me warm. No sucking.”

Clint moans, “Yes, Sir,” and crawls between Phil’s legs. He looks up at Phil and licks his lips as he runs his hands up the inside of Phil’s thighs but he gets no reaction, just a cold and almost disinterested stare. 

Clint rakes his nails back down to Phil’s knees and tries to fuck him with his eyes but it doesn’t get him the reaction he had hoped for (or maybe it does) as Phil’s eyes narrow and he snaps, “Knock it off, slut. If you can’t behave I’ll put you in the corner until it’s time for dinner.”

Clint feels a wave of fear and regret at having gone too far as Phil threatens him with a real punishment. Something he really would only hate, and that was Phil’s ‘this isn’t a threat, it’s a fact’ voice so Clint knows he means it.

“I’m sorry, Sir; I’m really, _really_ sorry.”

Phil doesn’t soften at all, doesn’t have an ounce of forgiveness or compassion in him as he flicks his eyes to the mostly unused cushion in the corner by the television and then raises an eyebrow in final warning.

Clint grabs onto Phil’s pants, finding a couple of belt loops to cling to as he dives down, swallowing too much at once and gagging himself, pulling back to a more manageable mouthful so that he can breath through his nose; the abrupt movement reminding him of his sore ass and, not that he had forgotten, that damnable plug.

Phil turns on the television and switches to something opera-y, and against his expectations Clint finds himself relaxing. He finds the right angle to keep as much of Phil’s cock in his mouth as he can while still breathing and able to rest his forehead against Phil. The plug stops being a distraction and more of a pleasant steady weight against his prostate. Clint’s fingers loosen and instead of holding on tightly he cautiously starts rubbing Phil’s hips with his thumbs.

Phil gives him a pleased little hum and that’s the last thing Clint is aware of until Phil’s tugging sharply on his hair, “I said, ‘Clean up and go add the carrots and potatoes.’”

Clint seals his lips around Phil’s cock and dares a little mild suction as he blinks up owlishly at Phil and then releases Phil’s cock to smack his lips. He feels himself lighting up inside at Phil’s possessive expression.

He knows he can get away with bobbing his head a couple times as he cleans up. It causes the plug to rub against his prostate pleasantly and he moans. He stretches out his tongue past his lips, careful not to suck too hard, or to push too far, not wanting to gag right now and potentially break the softness of the moment between them. He pulls back slowly, letting the tip of Phil’s cock bounce against his chin before licking off the spit that streaks down the lower third of Phil’s shaft and lapping it up where it’s gathered at the base of Phil’s cock. 

It makes him feel dirty and bad in a good way, and he follows a stray trail of saliva down the side of Phil’s balls, taking the orb into his mouth and sucking enough that there’s a soft _pop_ when he pulls off. 

Phil sighs and Clint can tell it’s supposed to be disappointed, though it’s not (Clint’s not sure he could survive actual disappointment from Phil right now but he should know better than to worry about Phil, of all people, misreading a situation).

“I suppose that will have to do. Now move— I didn’t say you could stand,” Phil snaps as Clint starts to get up.

“Please, Sir?” Clint begs.

“No. In fact, I want you to stay on your knees the rest of the night.”

It’s actually a blessing and a curse. The plug isn’t as bad this way but, _God_ , the humiliation.

He manages to crawl into the kitchen, get the larger bowl of vegetables off the counter and into the roasting pan without making too big a fool of himself (he hopes).

By the time he starts crawling back his cock is so hard and dripping he has a momentary concern for the carpet, which just makes him feel filthier, like he really is a dirty slut, made for fucking, to be used and nothing more and for a second it’s too much and he has to bow his head, barely able to make himself crawl forward one knee or hand at a time until Phil saves him, barking out, “Quit wasting time and get back over here. I want you on the couch, mouth back around my cock, on your knees, ass in the air,” when Clint doesn’t react fast enough he snaps, “Now!”

“Yes, Sir! Sorry, Sir,” Clint gives himself a bit of a rug burn on his left knee but it’s insignificant in the grand scheme of things.

Climbing up on to the couch and on top of the blanket Phil’s spread is pure torture but it’s nothing compared to Phil’s next order, “Get on my cock and then use your hands to spread your cheeks.”

What follows is either the best or worse scene of Clint’s life depending on how you look at it.

Phil spends the next twenty minutes alternately playing with the plug, twisting and thrusting, pulling it all the way out only to force it back in roughly, which is only slightly better (worse?) than when he teases Clint’s hole with it and eases it back into Clint’s ass gently. He alternates this with random slaps to Clint’s still slightly pink ass, being especially harsh when Clint shifts or starts to lose his grip.

That would be bad enough, but he also has to keep his mouth around Phil’s dick without choking or sucking and it isn’t long before he feels the waterworks start again, tears leaking down the side of his face, and he’s been in more painful stress positions and been edged by Phil more times than he can count but the combination of it all is almost too much.

But the thing that really almost dooms him is that Phil spends the entire time watching that damn French opera, Don Something’s Torment or Triumph or whatever and the music’s certainly dramatically appropriate but he wishes Phil would look at him for just a second but he won’t, God, he won’t he just keeps hurting and pleasuring Clint as if it’s something to do with his hands while he enjoys his show like he sometimes does with his knitting or when quietly fingering his guitar.

Fuck, Phil has amazing hands.

Clint’s just about to yellow, sure that he’ll come otherwise, even with Phil catching him and tugging not exactly gently on his balls, when there’s a beep from Phil’s watch and he’s pushed abruptly off the couch, gaining a bruise on his shoulder to match the one on his hip from when Phil kicked him out of bed.

Clint hopes they last for as long as possible.

“Green beans, then get back here.”

Clint nods, unable to find his breath and then crawls to the kitchen; he’s too turned on to feel any embarrassment this time and instead swings his hips, glorying in the press of the plug, stretching his spine; feeling like some sort of dangerous animalistic predator held only in check by Phil’s will; the stretch of it feeling good on his tired muscles.

He practically stalks back to the couch, for all that he’s on his hands and knees he wants to beg— no, _demand_ that Phil let Clint suck his cock for real but Phil’s put himself away and zipped up and Clint huffs in disappointment.

“Lay down on your side, head in my lap.”

“Yes, Sir,” Clint complains, but snaps to at Phil’s expression, the one that terrifies unsuspecting agents into not doing whatever fool thing they had done to endanger themselves or their team. 

It’s an expression Clint is well familiar with but it still hits him every time, doubly so now because Phil has never used it at home; Clint spares a thought to wonder if it will ever affect him the same way again. 

Chastened, he gingerly gets up and rests his head in Phil’s lap, Phil’s cock still hard beneath Clint’s cheek. Phil flips the blanket over Clint and Clint can’t help it, he snuggles into Phil, a wave of comfort and then lust as the plug shifts just right, then he sighs, closes his eyes, and tries to relax while Phil’s fingers run through his hair.

Trying being the operative word. It’s too much like aftercare for Clint, especially after being yo-yo’d out of the depths as he had been in, the contrast is too stark _not_ to notice it. 

And that’s when he realizes the discomfort he’s feeling is intentional on Phil’s part; that it doesn’t matter what Clint wants, _Phil_ wants this and Clint will have to put up with it and it brings everything full circle. Clint feels loved and kind of resentful as Phil gives him exactly what he wants and he hates it and it’s perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full disclosure, tawses are one of the things I have no real world experience with; if I’ve gotten something wrong, please let me know.
> 
> I have to say, there are days I miss being a dom.


	4. Chapter 4

By the time the roast is done both of their erections have subsided and Clint’s back in a dreamlike state, pliable and sweet, but he doesn’t care.

He crawls to the dining table and pulls out the cushion Phil had tucked under there at some point and kneels next to Phil’s chair, his knees parted, his cock hanging heavily between his legs, ready to rejoin the fray at the soonest opportunity. He crosses his hands behind his back and bows his head and shoulders and waits patiently as Phil pulls out the roast and makes a peppercorn sauce with the drippings.

Phil sets the table and Clint stays in position as Phil trails his fingers across the back of his shoulders, digging his thumb nail in sharply at Clint’s neck and he shivers, which cascades into repeated shivers as it shifts the plug, but he keeps his position. 

The ache starts up sooner than it normally would, his back, shoulders, and arms were already a little sore from the earlier stress position of holding himself open— he bites his lip and blushes as he remembers the way he had sounded as Phil edged him; of the way he had crawled afterwards, so wanton and— and slutty. 

His cock lifts up between his legs, curling up towards his stomach and slightly to the left and he has to start concentrating on his breathing and not squeezing his ass around the solid weight of the plug.

He’s in some kind of zone when he’s suddenly being pulled up over the table, their (amazing smelling) dinner plated and ready at Phil’s seat but he’s slammed down and his legs are forced wide and then Phil kicks them further apart until the table is taking most of Clint’s weight making it hard to catch his breath. Then the plug is being ripped from him and Phil’s sinking balls deep in one solid rush.

Clint cries out and grips the edge of the table as Phil fucks him. He looks away from their dinner and out the windows, glad once again for the coating that makes it impossible to see inside (well, mostly impossible), and while the people who could get around it are exactly the people they need to be worried about seeing in, they have enough countermeasures in place that Clint feels safe while feeling completely exposed as he looks at the twinkling lights of the city and it feels like the city is looking back, seeing him get fucked over the dining room table. 

And then Phil pushes on Clint’s head, smooshing his cheek onto the table where he’s forced to stare at their food or close his eyes as Phil pounds into him, his hand pressing down on the side of Clint’s face.

He grabs Clint’s arm and roughly twists it behind him and then forces Clint up on his toes and Clint feels a frisson of fear. He would have to break or dislocate something to get out of Phil’s hold and even then it would be iffy. 

Fuck, he’s completely at Phil’s mercy.

He starts thrusting back even though he knows he’s not supposed to, he can’t help help himself, and then Phil freezes and Clint realizes he’s ruined everything as Phil pushes off him and grabs a napkin to clean himself off. 

Clint lies there panting until Phil sets the plug down on the table between Clint’s nose and the plate and says, “Put this in the bathroom sink and go get Hugo. You can grab the lube; if you really think you’ll need it,” implying that Clint’s such a slut that he won’t, either because he’s already sloppy and loose or because he’s just that much of a slut that he’ll get off on the pain and there’s more than a grain of truth there. 

Phil sits at the table and cuts himself a bite of the roast. When he swallows he prompts, with a bit of reprimand, “Well?”

Clint groans and pushes himself up off the table; he starts to walk but at Phil’s warning noise sinks to his knees.

It’s hard to crawl one handed; he tries shuffling on just his knees but that’s even worse and he finally gives up and takes the base of the plug between his teeth.

On the way back he has the same awful decision to make, bring in back both the lube and plug in his hands and come back just on his knees, take the plug or lube in his mouth and try one handed, or just bring Phil the plug in his mouth, and he damns his pride as he leaves the lube behind and takes the plug into his mouth.

Hugo isn’t actually the largest plug they own but it is the first ‘big’ plug they picked up when this was still new between them and they decided to start pushing Clint’s limits. 

If a butt plug could be said to have sentimental value, Hugo does. 

These days he’s surprised it had ever intimidated him. 

He works up as much spit as he can, worried that he’s not actually slick enough for it, and he’s afraid he won’t be able to take it and that will mean failing Phil.

Phil has him get back on the table and the food smells so good that if he hadn’t been on the verge of drooling before he is now. There’s still steam rising off of it and he almost distracts himself from the clinical way Phil is fingering him. He can already tell that even though he’s still a little loose from Phil’s cock it won’t be enough.

Phil makes a considering sound and then grabs the gravy boat by Clint’s head.

“What?! No!” Clint starts to stand up but Phil slams him back down on the table so hard that the china jumps, “Please, don’t? Phil, you can’t! Please—!”

Phil squeezes the back of Clint’s neck and stops him with a soft but menacing, “Quiet,” and Clint hadn’t known Phil could sound like that, “Now, you can either safeword or you can let me do what I want. Make the right call.”

It’s a check in, Phil’s telling Clint he can trust Phil but if it’s too much that’s okay too.

Clint shudders. He can’t believe he’s going to let Phil do this to him.

“I’m yours, Sir.”

The sauce is smoother than he’s expecting, it’s making a surprisingly good lubricant. Phil must be avoiding the large peppercorns but Clint knows it’s the ground pepper he has to be worried about. 

He holds back a sob; he’s never felt this degraded before. There’s no one else he would do this for.

He can feel things heating up and the sob breaks free and Phil slaps his ass, sharply, “You’re done.”

Clint slides off the table into a puddle of misery shocked with himself and he wraps his arms around his stomach as he hunches over, almost missing it when Phil tucks the little travel bottle of warming lube into his pocket.

That devious fucking bastard!

His outrage is followed swiftly by relief and then overwhelming shame as he realizes even if it wasn’t real, he would have done it for Phil.

God, there’s going to be so much to unpack during Monday morning’s debrief.

He leans into Phil’s leg and Phil feeds him bites of roast and vegetables and it’s his favorite, Phil had made this the first time he cooked for Clint and it tastes even better than it smells. Hell, better than it tastes in his memory even. 

He hums contentedly, his erection mostly, but not entirely, forgotten, his ass is warm and full and he feels comfortable in a way that he can’t articulate, because he feels both soothed and on edge, wondering what comes next but content to stay just like this for as long as Phil will let him.

The last bite gone, Clint rests his head against Phil’s thigh, tracing nonsense designs on the side of Phil’s leg with his fingertip.

Phil tells him a story about his baby agent days and his first ‘office birthday party’ that May pranked him with, animated and doing perfect impressions of both May and Fury which lead Clint into telling some of his happier circus stories he’s never shared before, afraid of being judged, like the time Barney had gotten him a beer and a Captain America comic book (no one else knows that Clint is actually a bigger Cap fanboy than Phil; Phil always wished he could meet Steve Rogers, Clint wanted to _be_ him) for his twelfth birthday and about the car they ‘borrowed’ when he turned fourteen.

Clint isn’t sure how much longer they sit like this, the weekend and Phil have conspired together and shot Clint’s normally impeccable sense of time all to hell.

So everything’s going pretty much exactly as planned. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I’m only doing a quick editing pass and posting chapters basically as soon as they are written, which means a greater chance for typos.
> 
> Please let me know if you see anything so I can fix it .
> 
> 😘


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am so bad about leaving my porn just as porn and not bringing FEELINGS into it. And good gravy miss daisy did I get them *everywhere*. 
> 
> *And* writing this gave me another breakthrough on my Charity fic for about another 3k there. That’s going to end up taking me longer than I planned but that’s because I feel like I’m really connecting with something here and it’s going to end up being 20-50k. 
> 
> Gosh. Maybe I should try to write PWPs more often.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Tags updated again***  
> I apologize for the late tagging.

At a natural break, Phil stands up and snaps his finger, pointing down, “Stay.”

Clint stays rooted but sways towards Phil like a flower to the sun as Phil clears the table and then does the dishes.

When Phil’s done he opens the bread box that they never use (it was a gift from Phil’s Aunt Helen; the blue and white gingham thing is hideous and they both love the way it looks on the counter with its big red rooster hand painted on the front (neither of them have been able to get Aunt Helen to tell them _why_ she decided to paint a rooster on it and they love to speculate about their ‘cockbox’)), Phil pulls out a small plate with cubes of pound cake that have been dredged through vanilla icing and rolled in chopped peanuts.

“Phil! When did you have time to make Blarnies for me?” Clint supposes Phil could have bought them but Clint’s not sure where and Phil loves to bake, especially for Clint.

Phil just smiles smugly and pours them a glass of milk. When he sits down, he eats one slowly while Clint watches. When he takes a bite out of the second one Clint says, “Oh, come _on,_ Phil. That’s just mean.”

Phil’s smile isn’t reassuring, “Would you like a taste?”

Clint sits back down on his heels and crosses his wrists behind his back; as prettily as he knows how he says, “Yes, please, Sir.”

Instead of holding out a bite Clint gets something even better: a kiss. 

And it’s a good one, sweet and peanuty, Phil’s lips soft but firm as he masters Clint’s mouth and Clint surrenders, his tongue meeting Phil’s, following where he leads, promising to give him everything.

Clint realizes it’s the first time Phil’s kissed him since they sealed their negotiations and Phil sent him off to get ready, and suddenly he’s starving for Phil’s kisses; he becomes aggressive, for all that his hands are still behind him and he’s on his knees he takes over the kiss, tugging Phil’s lip between his teeth and then rhythmically thrusting his tongue in and out of Phil’s mouth. Phil’s hands cradle Clint’s face and he tries to take the kiss back but Clint bites his chin and kisses him again.

Phil only lets him get away with it for so long before he draws his thumb down the side of Clint’s throat and then wraps his hand around Clint’s neck, pushing his thumb up between the collar and Clint’s throat and squeezes a warning.

Clint breaks off the kiss, panting. He lick his lips and keeps staring at Phil’s mouth; startled when Phil presses a bit of cake to Clint’s lips.

He takes the bite and, futzing hell, it’s better than his mother’s and he thinks a little apology into the ether but it’s true and the only thing Mama Barton ever disapproved of was lying to her. 

Oh, he could lie, sometimes it was necessary and it was important that if you had to tell a lie to protect yourself you better make it a good one, but he never in his life lied to his Mama.

Phil keeps interchanging bites of cake and kisses, with the occasional sip of cold milk; he lets Clint push Phil’s boundaries a couple more times, always bringing him back with a squeeze from the hand that hasn’t left his throat.

It’s late by the time the last bite is a memory and Phil says, “Go get ready for bed; when you’re done I want you on the bed on your hands and knees, facing the mirrors.”

“Yes, Sir,” Clint’s hesitant as he crawls to the bedroom, self conscious under Phil’s stare. When he comes out of the bathroom he sees that Phil’s set the lights so that the windows have become reflective, which is concerning. 

The windows are on one side of the bed and on the other is the wall shared with the walk-in closet, mirrored from the corner near the head of the bed to the door of the closet. As Clint suspects, getting on the bed facing the mirror means seeing his own backside reflected in the window, seeing what someone would see if they were watching and he presses his face down into the bed and screams a little just to shake off some of his tension.

He feels Phil come into the room before he sees or hears him; Phil starts clicking his tongue, “Tch tch tch, do I have to do everything?”

He starts arranging Clint to his liking, prodding with a sharp fingertip into the bruises on his hip and shoulder, a quick slap to his flank and ass, pulling his arms in place and forcing his knees wider, tugging on his collar and then grabbing his chin to get his head just right, opening the closet door for another angle, in the end Clint can see every inch of himself depending on where he flicks his eyes.

“Two rules: keep your mouth open, you can close it to swallow but if you abuse the privilege it will mean the tawse. As long as your lips don’t touch each other I don’t care how wide, just keep your mouth ready for me to use however I want.”

_Fuck, yeah._

Clint nods his understanding and starts now, opening his mouth wide.

“Number two: keep your eyes on yourself, it can be any part of your body but don’t you dare look away.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Clint starts off easy with his face, he looks at that all the time; except not so easy as his eyes carry too much in them so he lets his gaze be drawn to his mouth. He tries keeping his lips just barely parted but that’s as bad as, if not worse than, when he has it wide open. He tries looking at his arms next but while he hadn’t noticed the strain before he’s starting to feel it in how Phil has his arms placed in a just this side of uncomfortable position and looking at them doesn’t make it any easier. 

His sides and legs are a little better, though he does feel a little bit like a show dog on display it’s not so bad and he tells himself to leave his eyes where they are but now they’re drawn to his ass; legs spread like this he can make out the base of the plug and the dark shadow where his balls hang down between his legs. He clenches around the plug and watches as his ass flexes. He does it again reflexively before catching himself; with how good it feels, anymore and it won’t be him testing the limits of Phil’s invisible bondage, it will be taking pleasure in himself which means the tawse and he’s not looking forward to anymore of that, resolved more than ever to be on his best behavior. 

Phil comes out of the bathroom with his hands full. Clint moans as he sees Phil set down a steaming bowl of hot water, a couple towels, shaving lather with its little cup and brush, and his straight razor.

Clint takes a stabilizing breath. He keeps the golden nest of curls around his cock neatly trimmed and it’s not like he hasn’t kept himself bare for other dominants in the past but he’s never done it specifically for Phil and he’s never let anyone else that close to his junk with a razor, much less a straight razor. 

There’ve been a couple close calls with knives and, because what is his life, swords but those were combat situations. 

This, not so much.

“Hold still,” Phil says, so of course Clint tenses up. Phil rest’s his hand on the small of Clint’s back, warm and reassuring, “Relax, I’m just looking you over right now.”

Clint takes a breath and lets out as much tension as he can with the position he is in. 

Phil keeps one hand on Clint’s back, like he’s a high strung thoroughbred who might bite or kick at any given moment and maybe some other time they can do something like this with Clint resisting every step of the way but that’s not what this weekend is about; it’s not about taking but giving.

Clint watches as Phil runs his fingers through Clint’s hair and then along his ears, careful like he always is with Clint’s BTEs, and if he can let Phil do that, letting Phil shave him should be a cakewalk. 

Phil stands in front of him, blocking his view and it would be a relief except how Phil’s eyes seem to pierce right through Clint. He strokes his thumbs across Clint’s cheekbones and says, “Open wide. Stay still,” and when Clint does he sticks two fingers in Clint’s mouth, rubbing his tongue while staying clear of his gag reflex. 

It makes Clint feel completely owned and he moans, straining against the need to suck Phil’s fingers. 

Phil wipes his fingers on Clint’s cheek then checks the tightness of his collar, just able to fit his still damp fingers between the leather and Clint’s neck, choking him a little bit; Clint lets him. Lets Phil slowly cut off his air until Clint has to squeeze his eyes shut to concentrate on not struggling, tears sliding down his face.

“Eyes open.”

He makes a distressed sound but obeys. Once he lets one sound escape, a flood of them follow, and Phil smiles that cruel smile and tightens just a bit more until Clint thinks he’ll have no choice but to tap out— or pass out but he would never do that to Phil, when Phil relents and Clint gasp as sweet, sweet air fills his lungs.

“Up,” Phil says, jerking on the back of Clint’s collar, “Link your hands together behind your neck and,” he shakes Clint by the collar with each word, “Don’t. Move.”

Phil lets go and steps aside so that Clint has to look at his reflection again as he comes up on just his knees and places his hands as Phil ordered; this opens his chest wide and exposes his jutting cock curving the up way it does, red and shiny at the tip with another bead of precum forming as Clint watches and he whimpers.

Phil comes up behind him, legs between Clint’s, already spread more than wide enough to accommodate Phil’s solid presence. Phil presses up against him, his pants and shirt almost rough against Clint’s skin, his hard cock nestling between Clint’s cheeks and coming up flush against the plug. He bites the back of Clint’s neck— hard, and Clint cries out but as much as he wants to close his eyes, he continues to watch himself in the mirror and so he sees the way the flush runs across his body starting at his throat and racing down to his bobbing cock and up to stain his cheeks. He looks debauched and wanton and Phil’s barely touched him.

Phil circles one wrist with both hands, then draws them down to Clint’s shoulder, needing both of them to get around Clint’s bicep; he kneads his fingers across Clint’s shoulders to give his other arm the same treatment. 

He suddenly grabs Clint’s hip and pushes down in between Clint’s shoulder blades and Clint bends and, with a semi-controlled fall, lands face first on the bed.

“Eyes,” Phil snaps and Clint turns his head towards the mirrors, his lips parted and his eyes dazed; he looks down the length of his body and sees his naked ass high and cradled against Phil’s fully clothed hips and he wants to thrust his hips back, rub his ass against Phil’s cock, tease him in all the ways he knows Phil loves until Phil can’t help but to fuck him.

But if he did that he would definitely get the tawse again and not for a mere four strokes.

And that would probably be followed by corner time.

It’s almost worth it. 

Almost. 

Clint promises himself he can act the brat next time; maybe they can even build a scene around it. Even if Clint’s bratting didn’t amused Phil as much as it does, he knows Phil would be game.

For him.

Oblivious, or maybe not, to Clint’s inner struggle, Phil scratches his nails down Clint’s back and it makes Clint want to purr, so he does, or approximates it. He wonders if maybe they should look into dabbling with pet play. 

He would look adorable with cat ears. 

Though he would rather think of himself as a jaguar or leopard then a house cat. 

Phil massages Clint’s back for a while, until Clint starts to feel boneless, the ache he feels in his balls is less urgent, the plug a comfortably familiar weight and nothing required of him but to keep watching, lips parted (and _God,_ had he ever been more aware of his mouth?), and ‘endure’.

On a final upstroke Phil hooks a finger under Clint’s collar and pulls him back up, Clint using his core to try and relieve the pressure on his throat (thank you, Pilates); Phil brings his arms under Clint’s and sets his fingernails against Clint’s collarbone and then rakes them down to Clint’s hips, leaving white and then red furrows that stand out against Clint’s golden all over skin (thanks to last week’s mission in the tropics and a few stolen hours on a private beach; best layover ever and he has to remember to thank Fury).

Phil starts to play with Clint’s neglected nipples which have been pebbled and standing at attention for most of the day, begging for Phil’s touch. Clint shifts, thrusting his hips back and his chest forward and is abruptly on his stomach again and Phil is slapping his ass, “I told you, ‘Don’t. Move.’”

Phil takes out his cock and strokes it a few times, “I _was_ planning on allowing you to suck my cock and swallow my come tonight but maybe I should find another submissive, one who will be a good boy for me.”

A black hole swallows him as it’s too real and too much and he’s about to let out a strangled _RED_ when he sees the look in Phil’s eyes; he’s never seen it before, Phil’s kept it hidden from Clint, how much he hates saying it, how it tears him up inside, and how he’ll do it anyway for Clint and that broken and insecure thing inside of Clint that needed this, needed to force Phil into telling him he’s disposable, that this is all temporary and that when Phil finally gets tired of Clint’s shit, tired of _Clint_ he’ll stop kicking Clint out of bed and instead kick him out of Phil’s life; that part of him _transforms._

Clint looks at Phil, stunned at how his life, his entire worldview has been turned upside down and inside out, how he can let himself feel loved because Phil truly loves him and it’s as if Clint Barton just died and was reborn in the light of Phil’s sun.

Phil’s mouth tightens in pain and Clint wonders at how he can’t see Clint’s love shining back at him when it’s so, so clear to Clint.

“I’ll be good, Phil, I promise.”

“It’s a little late for that, now I have to punish you.”

“No— please?”

“Choose,” Phil orders him coldly, “Do you want me to come down your throat or buried in your ass?”

Oh, that _hurts_ ; it’s not fair, how can he choose? “Please, no, Phil? Sir? Please? Don’t make me.”

Phil rubs his cock up and down between Clint’s cheeks, bumping up against Hugo with every pass; he’s relentless, “This is what happens when you're a bad boy.”

“No!” Clint growls, “No, you don’t get to say that. You don’t. I’m a good boy. I am. I’m _your_ good boy.”

Phil looks at him in surprise, as if seeing Clint for the first time; he smiles and says, “I’m coming in your ass, I want to keep you filled up. But don’t worry, sweetheart, you’ll still get your blowjob.”

“Oh, Phil, Thank you!”

“Now get back up here.”

“Yes, Sir!” Clint says enthusiastically, though ache ripples through his muscles as he pushes them to the limit; his arms, fingers still linked behind his neck, are as tired as his abs but it’s worth it for the pride in Phil’s eyes. 

Phil grabs his hips, his fingertips leaving imprints and if Clint’s lucky, bruises; he pushes down to frame Clint’s cock with his hands then avoids it entirely, bringing his hands to the inside of Clint’s thighs. He pulls on Clint’s legs so that his knees are further apart than his ankles and Clint has to shift his balance or risk losing the position. This causes his cheeks to tighten around Phil’s cock and he gets a little hum of pleasure that makes Clint smirk, he can tell Phil hadn’t meant to and he’s pleased that Phil isn’t nearly as unaffected as he’s making it seem.

His smirk disappears as Phil reaches between his legs from in front of him to press on Hugo, then tug, then press and Clint waits for, hopes for more but Phil just digs a knuckle into Clint’s taint and drags it up behind his balls, Clint’s eyes close which he fakes as being a long blink. Phil cradles Clint’s balls gently, then runs his fingers through the light dusting of hair there, barely brushing against Clint’s skin and Clint has to moan.

“Tomorrow whenever I say ‘Inspection’ you’re to stop what you’re doing and present your ass. Tell me you understand.”

 _Fuck._ “Yes, Sir,” Clint knows Phil just means for the weekend, at least he thinks it’s just the weekend. Oh, _God_ , what if it’s not. He imagines Phil saying it all the time, not just around the apartment, but in his office, or _fuckfuckfuck_ in public.

Phil squeezes the base of Clint’s cock with his right hand and when Clint’s calm again starts jacking him slowly and Clint hums in pleasure; it feels so nice. Well, it starts off that way; it isn’t long until he needs to come again but, before he can warn Phil, Phil stops, waits until he can tell Clint is under control, then starts again.

He does this until Clint is covered in a fine sheen of sweat, his hands pinching and twisting Clint’s nipples, forcing Clint to roam his eyes over his body, every other sound out of his mouth is a plea or a curse, “Please, Sir, please stop. Or let me come? I’ll come so pretty for you, I promise. All for you; I’m yours Phil, all of me. Please? Please, please use me Phil, _use_ me!” 

In the middle of his begging there’s a soft beep from Phil’s watch and Clint whimpers as Phil lets go of his dick and Clint loses the warmth of Phil pressed up against his back.

“Lay back in the pillows,” Phil says, testing the water; when Clint’s in position with his knees bent and his legs spread wide, Phil rings out a hand towel and wraps it around Clint’s cock and balls and down between his legs, practically wedging it up against Hugo, “Eyes on me, now.”

God, that feels good; almost but not quite too hot and Clint sighs in bliss, sinking into the soft pillows. Phil rubs his fingers through Clint’s hair and as Clint gazes up at him; his cooling sweat is a notable contrast to the heat of his groin and it makes him even more aware of every inch of his skin. He realizes he’s closed his mouth and he looks into Phil’s eyes as he licks his lips and deliberately opens it. 

Phil’s eyes dilate and that’s Clint’s only warning before Phil’s kissing him, pushing him back into the pillows he brings his thumb up between their lips and thrusts it in and out of Clint’s mouth along with his tongue; Clint yields his mouth to Phil, letting him take everything.

Phil’s damnable watch beeps again and Phil breaks the kiss though he keeps thrusting his thumb in and out between Clint’s plump and rosy lips. Clint sucks and licks it wishing it was Phil’s cock. When he’s finished fucking Clint’s mouth with his thumb, Phil pulls the slick digit from Clint’s mouth, pulling down on Clint’s shiny lower lip with his thumb, “Soon, baby, soon.”

Phil froths back up the lather, itself still warm bordering on hot when it touches Clint’s skin. As that continues to soften Clint’s hair, Phil amuses himself playing with Clint’s nipples, telling him, “Shush. Quiet now,” and Clint tries so very hard but he can’t keep the little cut off whimpers and whines out of his throat. 

Phil doesn’t look too mad about it. 

If anything he looks pleased. 

Yet another beep and Phil says, “Hold your ankles, keep your knees spread,” when he does as he’s told, Phil clips the D rings of his wrists to his ankles; then he takes the thigh cuffs attached to a rope that’s looped under the mattress and pulls Clint even wider apart, pinning him open, and he feels horribly exposed. 

“Do I need to tie down your arms, too, or can you be good?”

That’s the question, isn’t it? If Clint opts for the restraints Clint knows Phil won’t be disappointed but if he skips them Phil will be proud of him, assuming he really can keep still; held in place not just by Phil’s will and Clint’s desire to please him, but also the threat of the straight razor.

“I’ll be good, Sir.”

“Good boy. Now: Don’t. Move.”

It goes faster than Clint expects, not that he had any doubts about Phil’s skill; no the thing that surprises Clint is that there’s no flash of jealousy when he wonders who Phil perfected this skill on, only the thought that their loss is Clint’s gain and Clint feels just a little too smug to feel sorry for them.

The only touch and go part is when Phil shaves around the plug, pulling and twisting it out of the way while leaving it partially seated and Clint can’t help but to chant, “Phil, Phil, Phil,” not knowing what he wants, just needing to say it, to try and get Phil to understand in some way what he’s doing to Clint and how much Clint loves it, needs it, needs _Phil_ in order to be whole. 

When he’s done, Phil rubs some sort of lotion in and tells Clint, “Stay,” as he gathers up all the supplies. He leaves Clint there, his hands still around his ankles and his legs spread, more on display than he’s ever been. 

Clint had stayed hard through the shave, turned on and terrified in equal measure; now he’s a whisper away from coming when he notices how Phil settled him in relation to the mirrors and windows and the reflection in the windows is so sharp that the black circle of the plug is clearly visible, and even as light as his pubic hair has been, he hadn’t realized how much protection it had offered him, there’s something about seeing his cock and balls completely naked— and all for Phil, for his dominant, his Sir, he lets out a full throated garbled moan, flexing up off the bed and he shakes his head as he fights not to come. He can feel his precum sliding down his sensitive cock, can see it shine as it wells up in fat drops and, God, he’s dying and he never wants it to stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think one more? Maybe 2? It depends on how much sex I can cram into a single chapter.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil is having trouble sticking to the ‘don’t say nice things’ part of the program.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This just keeps getting bigger and filthier.
> 
> I’m adding more tags for what’s written (we’re up to chapter 8, I’m hoping that will wrap this up, but it’s keeping my energy up for my Hawtion fic that now officially has a big bad, hooray!), so you’ll want to recheck those, which is always a risk with WIPs.

Phil comes out of the bathroom naked. 

Well. 

Not completely. 

He’s wearing his leather cock ring, snug up under his balls and Clint knows what that means and he shakes his head. He can’t do this, not right now, not after being edged for so long.

“Can— can I have one too, Sir?” Knowing as he asks that if Phil decides to be lenient it will still likely mean the cock ring with the spikes (okay, so they’re just tiny nubs, but they _feel_ like spikes) that he hates, but he really, _really,_ doesn't think he’ll be able to hold back his orgasm once his dick is in Phil’s ass. 

It’ll be iffy even with a cock ring to help him out.

Phil brushes the fringe of Clint’s hair off of his forehead, “I think you have enough self-control; you don’t need it.”

Clint barks out a laugh, that’s the last thing on earth he’ll ever be known for, “Seriously, Phil, I won’t last.”

“I’ve already told you: you will. Don’t move until I tell you to,” Phil says, straddling Clint’s waist and then grabbing Clint’s cock, sinking down on to him slowly, an inch, then two, Phil’s so warm and so slick Clint can barely stand it, then back to one, fucking himself with just the tip of Clint’s dick as he adjusts to the size and weight of it, halfway there and then back to just the tip, teasing Clint, teasing himself.

Clint shakes his head, softly chanting, “No, no, no,” as he tries not to move, or worse, come.

Eventually Phil shows him mercy, fully seated he leans back between Clint’s widely spread thighs, one arm propped behind him between Clint’s legs, keeping himself at just the right angle.

Phil just watches Clint for a bit, not moving, just fucking Clint with his eyes while Clint trembles with barely contained need and it makes Clint feel good and he flushes all over; he bite’s his lip and closes his eyes.

Phil starts rhythmically squeezing his ass around Clint’s cock and he’s not sure if it’s a punishment or reward. Neither, probably, it’s just what Phil wants to do and Clint moans.

“You look so good like this, Clint. My slut, all trussed up, mine to use however I see fit,” Clint turns his head and bites a pillow, shouting at the effort it takes to stay still, to not come.

“Eyes on me, baby.”

Clint whimpers and shakes his head, he can’t, not while he’s balls deep in Phil, completely surrounded, completely _owned_.

“Clint,” Phil warns him and Clint shakes his head ‘no’ but he obeys, mostly, trying to watch from the corner of his eye. He knows right away that isn’t good enough and he lets go of the pillow turning back to watch as Phil lets go of his cock, braces his other hand behind him, and starts rolling his hips as he squeezes his hot, tight ass around Clint’s throbbing cock. Clint can’t take it anymore and tries to thrust up but he’s caught fast by the thigh cuffs and he would start crying but now that he notices it he’s been crying for a while, probably since that first exquisite inch.

Clint starts writhing in earnest, twisting under Phil, desperate and mindless just needing more, more, more; he’s so close he’s going to come, he’s going to come—

And then the satisfying weight of Phil in his lap is gone and that mixed with the almost gentle tug on his balls pulls him back from the edge into reality.

“Sorry,” Clint sobs, “Sorry, Sir, I’m so sorry.”

“I thought I was pretty clear about you not moving, Clint,” Phil says darkly and Clint shivers.

“I didn’t mean to, Sir; I couldn't help it,” Clint says as Phil brusquely unclips the rope from the thigh cuffs, “Sir? Phil?” 

God, Clint hopes he hasn’t ruined everything. Phil isn’t ending the scene, is he?

“On your knees, I don’t want to have to take care of this later,” half helps/half forces Clint to roll over and Clint’s a trained acrobat damn it but his brain is so sex clogged he’s a clumsy mess, the lube from Phil’s ass clinging to his cock and smearing across his thighs, whining as he follows where Phil leads even as he struggles against him. 

Phil manhandles Clint into place, face down, breathless, head turned so that Phil’s reflection is judging Clint from every angle. Clint’s shoulders are pressed into the mattress and his ass high from Clint’s knees being pulled in, his ankles still attached to his wrists.

Phil’s drapes over him, panting and Clint hesitantly checks in, “Sir?”

“I don’t know why you always have to make things harder on yourself, brat,” Phil shakes Clint by the back of his collar, “Now stay, or it will be twenty instead of ten.”

“Twenty!?” Clint’s eyes are as wide as dinner plates and he wants to scramble away; might have even tried to, restraints notwithstanding, but he wants to avoid the extra ten with the tawse even more. 

It’s still better than the corner and Phil has every right to put him there; Clint hopes the spanking is all there is to his punishment. 

At least he hasn’t come yet.

The problem is the more strikes he takes, sure the more it hurts, but also the stronger the pleasure that follows and the stronger the pleasure the harder it is to not move or worse, wound up as he is, come. This isn’t going to be a playful spanking like earlier, this is going to be a real one, one he’ll still be feeling in the morning, “Please, Sir! I won’t be able to take it.”

“One of these days I’m going to show you exactly how much you can take,” it hangs there in the air, threat and promise all in one, “I’m feeling lenient. Beg, and I might be willing to tie you to the bed.”

Clint feels, well, it’s not relief, but close to it and he starts begging, “Please tie me down, Sir? Please, I want to be good but I don’t think I’ll be able to stay still. I want to, I promise. Please? Sir, _please_? Please help me be good. Please? I’m yours.”

Clint is willingly at his mercy, Phil’s to do with as he pleases, he belongs to Phil and trusts him completely.

Phil’s sigh is slightly frustrated, like he can’t believe how indulgent he is being, but Clint catches a smile hiding in the corner of his mouth and part of him he didn’t realize was tense relaxes. Phil uses the ropes at the head, sides, and foot of the bed to retie Clint’s thighs, rigging them so that Clint’s legs are spread wide and his ass is pulled up higher. He grabs the arm cuffs and secures Clint’s upper body to the bed as well, then Phil’s gone but only for a few seconds as he goes and gets the tawse.

Clint sinks into the feeling of being bound for Phil, he feels like an offering, on display, spread and waiting. He looks at their reflections and feels surrounded by Phil, by his love.

Phil traces the stiff end of the tawse over Clint’s skin and he realizes the extra binding gives Phil better access to the sensitive skin between his ass and thighs and Clint’s suddenly aware that he’s made a mistake in asking for them. 

“Count them out,” Phil says, tapping Clint’s ass with the leather.

“Please, Sir, I’m sorry,” Clint tries one last ditch effort, “I’ll do anything, Sir. _Anything_.”

“Anything?”

Clint’s mind runs through his soft limits, what he’s actually willing to do to get out of a spanking, both hoping and fearing Phil will pick something difficult even if it throws off the weekend.

Of course, Phil surprises him.

“I like you smooth like this,” Phil says, stroking his fingers around Hugo then down between his legs to cradle his balls. He squeezes them, pulling a punched out sound from Clint and then he _keeps_ squeezing and it’s torture but Clint’s dick just gets harder and wetter.

“Ahh, please, Sir, please, it hurts.”

Phil relents, though whether for Clint’s sake or his own nefarious plans, Clint can’t be sure. He rests the hand with the tawse on Clint’s back, then presses in hard enough to leave a mark as he reaches further under Clint to pet the soft, smooth skin around the base of Clint’s dick, stroking up towards his missing treasure trail. He hums, “This is nice.”

“It’s gonna itch like a son of a bitch when it starts to grow back,” Clint grumbles.

“Keep it this way, for me.”

Clint melts inside a little; when Phil has brought this up, it was all in terms of how it would make Clint feel, but now he sees how much Phil likes it he knows he’s going to do it. Clint nods his acquiescence. It will be a pain in the ass and he’ll probably get some ribbing if anyone finds out but it’s worth it for that possessive look in Phil’s eyes.

“Not for a lighter punishment but because it will please me.”

“Yes, Sir,” Clint gasps, his body, his mind on fire. Phil strokes Clint’s cock lazily and it’s not enough, but that’s probably better than too much. Clint bites his lip as he fights to keep still.

“We both know there’s nothing you can give me that isn’t already mine for the taking,” God, Phil’s killing him, “Mine to toy with. Mine to _hurt_. You’re so beautiful when you’re in pain,” he squeezes Clint’s cock until he cries and tries to pull away, moaning when he realizes how immobile he really is and Phil’s hand starts sliding even easier as Clint’s spurt of precum slicks him up, “I know you love it, so I will do something nice for you. Don’t let that fall.”

Phil releases Clint’s cock abruptly, wipes his hand on Clint’s back, and leaves the tawse next to the wet spot. He goes into the closest and comes out humming.

“Ohhhh, no. Please, Sir, not that,” as if summoned from Clint’s earlier musings, it’s the studded cock ring, “I don’t— I don’t need it anymore, I’ll be good,” though Clint isn’t certain of that at all.

“I’ll give you a choice,” Phil says in sadistic glee. Okay, it’s actually just his normal mild mannered voice, but Clint can sense it. He groans, knowing he’s not going to like this, “If you think you can take all ten without coming I won’t make you wear it but if you do come it won’t be twenty, it will be until my arm gets tired.”

Clint feels a spike of fear. Put like that it’s no choice at all, which Phil knows; he has more stamina than anyone Clint’s ever met and while the idea of wearing Phil’s bruises, of not being able to sit comfortably for days is appealing he’d rather get there anyway but the tawse. 

Clint also knows that if he doesn’t opt for the cock ring, Phil will do everything in his considerable power to make sure Clint comes without permission. 

Which is the real reason Clint will be wearing it. 

It isn’t the threat of pain and the promise of bruises but the thought he might disappoint Phil that makes him say, “Please may I have the ring, Sir?”

“Smart boy,” Phil says and then smirks, “Hold still. If you drop the tawse I’m taking it back up to twenty.”

That tears a long drawn out moan from Clint and he’s so focused on the tawse that he almost doesn’t notice Phil reaching between his legs to put the cock ring on. That changes when it’s snapped in place and he jerks at the points of pain that flare up around his dick, and he’s grateful it’s the smaller ring custom made for his shaft, and not the other, tighter, pointier one that goes around his balls too. He adjusts quickly but he can feel the tawse start to slide off his back. He’s caught so fast in Phil’s bondage that he can’t do anything to stop it, save begging, “Sir! Sir, it’s slipping.”

“That’s a you problem, isn’t it?” Phil sits back and watches.

“Please, Sir, please, spank me. I shouldn’t have moved earlier, I’m sorry. Please spank me? Please, please spank me now? I need it now— Noooo!” He shouts as the tawse falls onto the bed next to him.

Phil clicks his tongue, “If you wanted more, all you had to do was ask.”

“Fuck you, Sir,” Clint sulks, pinching his mouth together mulishly until he remembers he’s supposed to keep his mouth open.

Phil raises an eyebrow, “Thirty, then. Or would you prefer more?”

“No!” He snaps. Fuck, twenty might just make him come even with the ring, if Phil takes it slow enough; thirty has him seriously doubting himself. He corrects his tone and says respectfully, “No, Sir. I’m sorry. Please? I didn’t mean to move and I shouldn’t have been disrespectful. I’m so, so sorry.”

What has his mouth gotten him into? He shivers. A real spanking had always been on the table but he was so sure he could be good for the weekend. It’s not his fault, Phil had done everything in his power to make Clint move, to make him come. He’s not sure what small mercy had made Phil decide to get off him and let him gain some sort of control but he’s grateful for it.

Disobeying Phil’s order not to move had been one thing, coming without permission something else entirely. 

“I’m sorry, Sir, I shouldn’t have been disrespectful, I know I earned those but please, _please_ , I tried not to move, I did,” maybe if he begs prettily enough Phil will reduce him back to twenty. He knows ten is so far in the rear view that there’s no chance of getting back there.

Phil gives him a cold uncompromising look and Clint hides his face in the bed. Phil allows it and Clint shakes, overwhelmed for a moment; then he tries to wipe his tear stained eyes in the sheets before turning back to meet Phil’s uncompromising stare, he offers his mouth like he’s supposed to and feels his body relax as he submits to Phil’s will, accepting what’s to come.

Phil leans down and brushes his fingers through Clint’s hair with a quiet sigh, “What am I going to do with you?”

“Anything you want, Sir. I’m yours.”

Phil leans down and kisses him, and his expression may have been devoid of any warmth but his mouth is hot on Clint’s and Clint moans, trying to push into it but he’s held fast by the cuffs and rope and the moan slides into a whimper and then a whine as Phil breaks the kiss.

“Twenty, then.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Clint says softly, sincerely, blinking away tears of gratitude.

“Would you like something to bite down on, sweet boy?”

Clint nods, the only part of him that can really move, relieved that he won’t have to count, that all he needs to do is accept the gift of Phil’s pain, of his discipline.

Phil disappears into the closet again, strong and dark, his cock still thick and hard, straining upwards, the black band of the cock ring seeming to only add to his power. He comes back with one of their most comfortable gags, the one that Clint can grip with his teeth but that doesn’t pin down his tongue or impair his breathing. 

Phil’s not gentle but not rough either as he buckles it in place, skillfully avoiding knocking into Clint’s ears. He steps back and wiggles his fingers by his chin, casually signing, «COLOR?»

«GREEN,» Clint signs back, well, as much as he can trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey, more of a twitchy ‘G’ with his right hand.

“You’ve got such a great ass,” Phil says, smacking it, startling Clint. He rubs away the sting and then smacks Clint’s other cheek, “We’ll get to this,” he snaps the tawse but all Clint feels from it is a breeze, “I’ve decided to have a little fun first.”

Clint swallows and closes his eyes. He’d say thank you if he could, knowing this is a gift; Phil’s going to warm him up with a hand spanking, making the tawse a little easier to bear. 

Not that it won’t still hurt like hell.

“Eyes,” Phil barks and Clint opens them, focusing on Phil over his shoulder until he says, with a sharp smack, “You’re supposed to be watching yourself, not me.”

Clint lowers his eyes in apology and focuses on them in the mirror, taking in the tableau they make, like something out of one of those dirty magazines Clint used to hide in the back of the caravan he and Barney shared with a couple other roustabouts. 

Ass high and head down, both naked except for tantalizing strips of leather, Clint’s legs spread obscenely to show the base of the plug and his freshly shaved hole, the drop of his balls, Phil also on his knees but towering over Clint, the tawse held loosely in his left as he slaps Clint’s ass with his right.

The sound has more impact on him than the actual strikes and he wants to rock up into them but he’s not going anywhere, held in place exactly where Phil wants him. The way he’s bound his balls are in easy reach and Phil taps them a little, not as hard as he’s spanking Clint’s ass, but enough to make him gasp around the gag.

Phil strokes his fingers over Clint’s smooth, hairless sack and briefly digs his nails in, shocking a muffled scream out of Clint. Clint’s eyes dart to Phil’s feeling betrayed. Phil smirks and gives them the barest hint of a twist, cupping them in his hand, “Just making sure you’re paying attention. Maybe I should get out the clamps and let you scream for me for a bit.”

Clint whimpers and pleads with his eyes.

“Oh, alright, next time,” he says with one last vicious slap to his balls that has Clint screaming again and trying to curl in on himself. Phil lets him recover before starting up the spanking again, steadily increasing the strength until Clint’s floating high on endorphins and his ass from just below where his crack starts down to the upper edge of his thighs is almost as red as the shiny tip of Phil’s cock. 

“I think you’re ready. We’ll do this in sets of five. The first two sets are for moving without permission.”

Clint nods; he would agree to anything right now.

The first strike of the tawse isn’t as bad as any of the four strikes this afternoon, but it’s by no means pleasant, a lightning strike of pure pain followed by a line of warmth. He doesn’t have any time to adjust to it as it’s swiftly followed by four more.

“Shhh, shh, you’re doing well, Clint. That’s five. Five more for moving,” Phil says and proceeds to give the next set in rapid fire, Clint trying to jerk away but only able to toss his head back and forth and shake in place; none were enough to make Clint scream and relief pools with the endorphins as he realizes how lightly Phil is letting him off. 

“Now the first five for that little display of disrespect.”

Clint turns his face into the mattress nods; these are the one’s he’s really earned.

“Eyes! That’s the last time I’m warning you. Forget again and you’ll get the blindfold.”

Clint shakes his head, ‘ _no,’_ frantically as he draws his eyes back to his image in the mirror.

His hair is sticking up in random directions and dark with sweat, his eyes, bright with pain and lust, are red from crying and there’s a line of drool running out from the side gag and down his cheek. His legs are spread obscenely, his ass is bright red with a few streaks of scarlet where strikes from the tawse overlapped, promising future bruises. If it weren’t for the damnable studded cock ring he could almost come just from how depraved he looks. 

“That’s it, see what you’ve done to yourself. I hope these will remind you to keep a civil tongue,” Phil says, building the anticipation for the rest of Clint’s punishment, stern and imposing, not an ounce of kindness to be found in the breath of his arms or the line of his jaw.

Clint screams at the first one, jerking within his bondage but held fast. God, he hadn’t realized how much Phil had been holding back until now, that one is definitely going to leave a bruise and he’s not sure he can take nine more like that. Phil doesn’t give him any space to process either, the rest of the set lighting his ass and brain on fire and he’s struggling now and trying to beg Phil to stop through the gag, but he balls his hand into a fist to keep from safewording, knowing he deserves this, that Phil isn’t doing any permanent damage, even though it feels like it.

“Last five. These are going to be slower, and I want you to think about why you’re getting them. I’m going to count them down. Five.”

Fuck. _Fuck._ That’s the worst one yet and he promises himself to never be that rude again.

“Four.”

Oh, fuck, now that Phil’s giving Clint room to feel the warm wash of pleasure after each stoke he has a moment to mentally thank Phil for taking the first 15 so quickly; spreading them out is letting the pleasure build higher and twenty slow would have almost certainly had him coming, cock ring or no.

“Three.”

Fuck! The next two are going to be close and he knows he’s supposed to be thinking about improving his words and attitude, but all he can think is a prayer that he won’t come, everything just hurts so _good_ and he feels a wave of shame because he shouldn’t be getting off on his punishment.

“Two.”

It hurts, God, it hurts and he hates and he loves it and he feels like his dick is about to fall off; his skin feels electric and he’s watching himself sob in the mirror he bites down as hard as he can on the gag as he prepares for the last one.

Phil, bastard that he is, waits Clint out, not spanking him until the moment he relaxes, “One,” then he’s unclipping the carabiner clips attaching the ropes to the cuffs and his wrists to his ankles; he pulls Clint into his arms, “I’ve got you, sweetheart, it’s over, I forgive you.”


	7. Chapter 7

Phil unbuckles Clint’s gag and sets it aside, moving to lean against the headboard and cuddling Clint to his chest. When Clint’s sobs fade into further and further spaced little hiccups Phil brushes Clint’s hair off his forehead, “You know I don’t mind a little bratting from time to time, but I will not allow such blatant disrespect.”

“Yes, Sir,” Clint whispers, “I’m sorry, Sir.”

“I want you to behave the rest of the weekend. It happens again and you’ll spend time in the corner.”

“I’ll be good, Sir. I promise.”

“Good b—,” Phil cuts himself off, remembering the rules, “You’d better. Now, you have another choice—”

Clint groans, feeling it burn the back of his raw throat, he thinks maybe he’s been screaming more than he realized.

“— you can keep the ring on or not but if you come this spanking will look like child’s play.”

Clint buries his eyes in Phil’s neck and whispers, “You’re the worst, Sir.”

It’s not a complaint, not exactly, and Phil gives a pleased little hum before saying, “I haven’t got all night,” and Clint can tell that he meant the warning to be harsh when instead it’s soft and sincere. 

The ring has become a constant ache around the base of his cock, spiking from uncomfortable to painful when Phil pinches a nipple and Clint’s cock bounces in reaction. Clint moans low and sweet.

“You won’t like it if I have to choose for you,” and Phil’s found the grim tone that seeps into Clint’s bones and Clint’s cock gets even harder as he imagines all the possibilities.

“O— on, Sir.”

“Good—,” Phil cuts himself off again, “Now, I believe I promised you a blowjob,” he says pushing down on Clint’s shoulder.

“Oh, thank you, Sir,” Clint sighs as he lets Phil push his head into Phil’s lap.

Clint gets right to it with a little, “Yum,” taking the head of Phil’s cock into his mouth and sucking away the precum that’s gathered. He laps up the shaft from Phil’s cock ring (God that little taste of leather _does_ something to Clint) to the tip with a wide tongue. That was fun enough that he does it again, and then once more because he can’t help himself. 

Fuck, he loves Phil’s cock.

He holds Phil’s cock down, the rings on his wrist and arm cuff clink, reminding him that his biceps and thighs are still bound, along with his wrists and ankles, in the leather cuffs that match his collar and his and and Phil’s cock rings, feeling Phil’s claim on his body. 

He licks the top of Phil’s cock from the tip down to the ring, tugging at the leather with his teeth. When he lets go of Phil’s cock he smiles as it bounces back up. He swallows it whole, sucking just right, Phil thick between his lips, down his throat, filling him until he gags and has to pull back and cough, a trail of saliva clinging from Phil’s cock to Clint’s lips.

“Fuck. You’re so beautiful like this. So slutty. So _mine.”_

Clint looks up to meet Phil’s eyes as he deep throats him again, this time only gagging a little, able to swallow past it, letting the warm cock in his mouth cut off his air for as long as possible while he sucks and sucks, swirling his tongue around Phil’s shaft as best he can manage.

Time scatters as Clint loses himself in pleasuring Phil, in worshiping his cock. He pulls back to catch his breath, panting and sucking in air as he strokes Phil, slick with Clint’s spit, and diving back in as soon as he can.

He loves this, possibly more than anything, where his focus can narrow down to just his mouth, his fist, and Phil’s cock.

Not that he’s neglecting Phil’s balls; he cradles them in his hand, massaging them anytime he isn’t stroking Phil’s dick with both hands, with occasional forays to press up into his taint, or circle his still slick hole with a finger.

The third time he touches Phil’s asshole Phil tilts his head back and moans, so Clint eases in a finger; feeling how loose Phil is he quickly adds a second, now thrusting in counterpoint to the bobbing of his head, stroking Phil’s prostate as he pulls his fingers out and applies just the right suction as he impales himself on Phil’s cock, fucking his fingers back into Phil as he draws his pointed tongue up the underside of his cock until they’re both moaning, repeating the cycle until Clint starts almost thrusting into the mattress, his own cock hot and full and pinned between him and the bed. 

He feels Phil’s fingers tangle in his hair and tilt his head back, which he follows obediently and is doubly glad for doing so when he sees the heat in Phil’s eyes. 

He keeps his eyes locked on Phil’s as Phil guides his head back down, Clint continuing to whorl his tongue against and around Phil’s shaft, swallowing on the way down sucking on the way up until he’s suckling just the tip, tonguing his slit and then his frenulum, rubbing Phil’s prostate with small circles in between finger strokes.

“Oh, _God!”_ Phil shouts and yanks Clint’s head off his cock; Clint grabs Phil’s thighs and and tries to use that as some sort of leverage to keep his mouth on Phil’s dick but Phil shakes Clint’s head and Clint stops, trying to bow his head apologetically, which doesn’t stop him from looking up through his lashes, licking his lips, and offering his tongue, as he pants, earning another shake and then Phil roughly pushing Clint’s face away with a breathless, “Stop that.”

Clint pouts but obeys, laying his head on Phil’s thigh, not licking or biting like he wants to; he promised Phil to be good, after all.

After a bit Phil reaches down and unsnaps his own cock ring, sighs in relief and palms his cock for a moment.

“I’m going to read a bit before fucking you and going to sleep. You’re going to be my little cockwarmer until then.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Clint say’s dreamily, though the ring of discomfort bordering on pain around his cock reminds him this is very, very real. He lets himself kiss the inside of Phil’s thigh and once he starts feels like he can’t stop. He continues to kiss and bite his way down to Phil’s cock when Phil says in that voice that reaches into Clint’s bones, “What do you think you’re doing?”

Clint blushes and says, “I’m sorry, Sir.”

“I can’t trust that slut mouth of yours, can I?” Phil asks rhetorically, contempt shadowing every word. Clint shivers and for a second the ‘spikes’ of the cock ring are almost two painful. Phil gives a deep theatrical sigh, “I’m going to have to use your ass. No squeezing or I won’t waste my time on spanking you, you’ll go straight to the corner.”

Fuck. _No_. The censure in Phil’s voice has Clint blinking away tears. He really, really doesn’t want to be put in the corner; it will feel like he’s not only failed Phil in this one task but failed the weekend. 

At least that helped with the cock ring problem as for the first time in what feels like forever his erection flags, “I won’t squeeze, I promise.”

“Well, let’s see how loose your other slutty hole is. Inspection.”

“Fuck, _Phil_ ,” his erection returns full force, the nubs of his cock ring digging in twice as painfully as before. He would be worried at how effectively Phil’s able to break him down until he’s a creature of his basest instincts, except it’s Phil and there’s no one he trusts more and no one more trustworthy.

Clint turns to face away from Phil, which means he’s facing the mirrors as he leans down and uses his hands to part his cheeks. 

It also means he has a perfect view of spreading himself for Phil, and he moans.

Phil strokes the smooth skin around Clint’s hole and then, as if unable to stop himself, between Clint’s legs to fondle his hairless balls before stroking back with extra pressure on his prostate through his taint. 

Phil unceremoniously pulls out the plug, sets it on the nightstand, and thrusts in three fingers right away; it burns so good that Clint whimpers. 

“I’m going to watch you take my whole hand,” he says and Clint can feel him spread his fingers as they disappear into his hole. Phil pours lube from the bottle over his fingers and Clint’s hole and adds a fourth and Clint can’t, he can’t, he thought this was a soft limit but _no_ , this is, no— Clint panics for a second, _red_ on the tip of his tongue when Phil follows with, “But not tonight,” and Clint feels himself sag with relief.

“There you are,” Phil says, pulling his fingers out to circle Clint’s now sloppy hole, “Up,” as he slaps Clint’s ass, leaving a streak of lube, “ln my lap, facing me; straddle my legs, on your knees.

Phil lets Clint rest his shaking hands on Phil’s shoulders as Phil lines up his cock and then pulls Clint down until he’s fully seated. Clint continues to shake but manages to keep from squeezing around the delicious feeling of Phil’s cock in his ass.

Phil jacks Clint’s cock a couple times without any real purpose. 

Actually, that’s not true, it’s purpose is to push Clint to the edge and to pull Clint further out of his mind and it’s working. Clint’s world narrows down to staying loose, not coming, and breathing, in that order and being held more in check by the threat of corner time than how excruciating would be to come with the ring on; if it were only pain and not disappointing Phil, he might have said fuck it and let himself go.

“Staying open for me, baby?” Phil asks as he lets go of Clint’s cock and picks up his tablet and Clint remembers he’s also supposed to be keeping his mouth open for Phil.

“Mmm, yes, sir,” Clint moans and parts his lips, blatantly slicking his tongue across his lower lip. 

“If this,” Phil thrusts up and Clint clenches his fists and eyes closed to keep from reacting, “Isn't enough to keep you occupied, you can help hold my book. Lean back on your hands.”

Clint blinks his eyes open and watches Phil’s face, which is giving nothing away, and gingerly obeys, hands palm down outside each of Phil’s thighs, moaning at the way this moves Phil’s cock inside him, increasing the pressure against his prostate. 

Phil, indifferent to Clint’s suffering, rests his tablet on Clint’s abs; it slides down Clint’s now soft and smooth skin until the bottom of it is resting just behind Clint’s cock ring, and Phil manages to balance it there but Clint knows that in addition to keeping his ass loose he now has to carefully maintain this position or risk dropping Phil’s tablet. 

Clint whimpers as he barely keeps from squeezing his ass, “Phil, please, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have teased you. Please, let me fuck you? Please, Sir? I’ll make it so good.”

“Shush,” Phil says, tapping Clint’s balls with a little smack from the back of his fingers and getting a wavering cry as Clint struggles to stay in place, sweat beading his brow, “I’m trying to read. If you can’t be quiet the gag goes back in.”

Clint presses his lips together contritely in silent acknowledgment and then at Phil’s single raised eyebrow opens his mouth; Phil’s cock jerks inside him and Clint moans, not as much as from the sensation, which is exquisite, but from knowing he’s affecting Phil, no matter that his expression says otherwise. 

Unfortunately, that flex breaks the thin thread Clint has on his self control and he squeezes his ass in response. He starts to apologize but doesn’t get past the, “Sor—,” before he remembers he’s on voice restriction and he stops, opening his mouth comfortably wide and pleading for forgiveness with his eyes.

Phil sighs, “I suppose you can’t help it; can you?”

Clint looks down at Phil’s thickly furred chest, avoiding his eyes as Clint shrugs.

“If you manage not to disturb me until I finished reading, I’ll let you ride me until I fill this sweet,” he thrusts and Clint feels his eyes roll and a whine escape his throat as he keeps himself from moving or squeezing, “Sweet,” he thrusts again and Clint trembles, tears trailing down the side of his face as Phil thrusts a third time, “Ass with my come.”

He let’s Clint pant for a second, likely (accurately) guessing that Clint can’t take much more without coming, and the cock ring has become both a living agony and his saving grace as it’s about the only thing keeping him in check

“Do you think you can manage that, slut?” Phil thrusts again, this time combining it with a nipple pinch and Clint shakes his head as his ass flutters around Phil and he sobs once before swallowing it. Phil frowns and twists his other nipple; this time Phil isn’t calling him a slut or thrusting into him and he’s able to hold still, if barely.

“Better. I’m not completely heartless,” he says with another thrust and Clint would beg to differ but all of his focus is on staying loose around Phil, on not grinding down to meet him, on not coming, ring or no, “I know how hard this is for you so I’ll only read for another five minutes,” Phil takes his watch from the night stand, twisting under Clint in a way that has him clawing his fingers into the mattress, “When this goes off, you have my permission to ride my cock as hard as you want.”

Clint moans gratefully; five minutes. He can do five minutes. All he has to do is concentrate and listen for the bell.

Phil, of course, doesn’t make it easy on him, batting his cock out of the way from where it’s standing tall and proud between Phil and his screen, pinching either or both of his nipples at random; Clint thinks he’s doing pretty well, all things considered, he hasn’t really been quiet, moaning and crying as Phil torments him while seemingly ignoring him, when Phil almost pushes him over the edge, huffing and saying, “Stop trying to distract me,” giving Clint’s cock a light backhanded swat that makes Clint yelp; as if Clint had been doing it on purpose. Which he totally hadn’t been, though only because he’s not sure he could flex his cock without squeezing his ass; and while Phil has been forgiving of his involuntary reactions, deliberately squeezing would definitely get him into the wrong sort of trouble. 

Clint has to rebalance his weight to one arm, sliding Phil’s cock just slightly in and out of his ass, and _fuck_ that feels amazing and he wonders how much time he has left. Normally he’s able to track time down to the second but since the moment he stripped off the tailored dress shirt and slacks he had worn for lunch at Piscary’s time has turned into taffy; all stretchy sweet and sticky.

He uses one hand to press his cock down, his hand warm and calloused against his nearly oversensitive skin and it’s both better and worse than when Phil was roughly swatting it around, no longer having to put up with the random spikes of sensation, but feeling that edge of humiliation as he holds his throbbing cock where it won’t bother Phil, who seems oblivious to Clint’s struggle; or, if not oblivious, indifferent, which might be worse.

Phil’s in the middle of turning a page when his alarm beeps and Clint’s grabbing the tablet and tossing it to the other end of the bed, grabbing Phil’s shoulders and starts fucking him with all the passion he’s been keeping bottled up.

“Impatient,” Phil says with a little gasping laugh and Clint will show him impatient, rolling his hips and he bounces up and down, squeezing his ass the way he’s been dying to as he tries to drag Phil’s orgasm out of him, “ _Fuck_ , _baby,_ like that, oh, look at you go. God, oh, take it, take my cock, how does that feel, gorgeous?”

“Good! So good, love your cock, Phil, love this, love you, oh, thank you, fuck, thank you.”

“Gonna fill you up, Clint; fill you until you’re dripping with my come, mark you all up inside; you’re mine, Clint, _mine_.”

“Oh, God, Phil, I’m going to come, I’m going to come, I’m—,” Clint cuts off as Phil rolls them, one arm up under Clint’s leg and pinning it close to his body, spreading Clint open, wrapping his free hand around Clint’s throat, “Don’t you dare!” And Clint see’s spots for a second, “Yes, Sir! I won’t— No, I can’t” he says as Phil starts fucking him in earnest, “Please, Phil, I was wrong, it’s too good.”

“Are you my slut, or not, Clint?” Phil asks, squeezing Clint’s throat and then letting go to viciously twist his nipple.

“Yours! I’m yours, I’m your slut, Phil; just for you, all for you, God please, please come, I can’t, I won’t last. Let me be good, please, Phil, let me be your good slut, please don’t make me come. Oh, God, no, don’t! I can’t!” Phil strokes Clint’s cock and starts playing with the snap of his cock ring, “I need it, please, Sir, please come inside me— Aah!!” Clint’s pleas end with a cut off scream as Phil doesn’t take off the ring but instead twists it, changing the pressure points and it hurts more than the friction, almost as bad as if he had taken the damn thing off; then it _is_ off and he’s wrong this is worse; his screaming seems to set off Phil’s orgasm as he comes and comes and comes, and it’s not fair, it’s not fair, how is Clint supposed to keep from joining him. Clint’s head falls back and he can barely move, overwhelmed by it all, only able to lay there and let Phil take his pleasure; Clint sobbing as Phil continues to fill Clint’s ass with his come.

There’s one last full body shudder from Phil and a spurting feeling in his ass followed by the slight tickle that tells Clint Phil’s come is leaking out around his cock, still thick and hot in Clint’s ass and he whines, barely able to keep his cock in check, to keep from coming at the feeling.

Phil looks like he’s going to kiss Clint but instead he grabs the first plug from this afternoon, cleaned and ready for Clint, it’s the one most comfortable for sleeping with that will still keep him ready enough for Phil that he won’t need any stretching; it will keep Clint’s ass nice and fuckable while being unobtrusive enough that Clint can mostly forget about it. 

He drops it on Clint’s chest, “Better be quick about it, you’re going to want to keep as much inside you as possible; I’m not planning on wasting anymore lube tonight and I may want to fuck you again.”

It’s another check in and Clint feels himself color; this may be his last chance to back out until it actually happens and he wants it; the thought both terrifying and exhilarating.

“Yes, Sir, I’m yours.”

“Good. I want you to watch yourself while you seal up my come inside you,” Clint moans, and feels more come squeeze out around Phil’s cock as it starts to soften, “But you’re going to keep me warm a little longer; I didn’t quite get to finish reading; _someone_ kept being a distraction.”

Phil reaches behind himself and grabs his tablet, which does interesting things to his cock in Clint’s ass and it feels disgusting in the best possible way. Clint really wishes he had thrown the damn tablet to the floor when Phil goes to rest it on Clint’s chest and picks up the plug, “Hold this,” he says, pressing the tip of the plug to Clint’s lip. Clint licks it, and seeing the way Phil’s eyes darken and his nostrils flare, he licks it again then rubs his tongue around it, he fellates it and eye fucks Phil until he can tell Phil is about to say something when he stops, kiss the plug reverently, and takes it carefully back into his mouth, giving Phil an innocent look.

Phil gives him a fond sigh that says, ‘ _Behave,’_ but his twitching cock tells Clint he liked it. Phil starts scrolling on his tablet and Clint would pout but it’s kind of difficult with a butt plug in his mouth; he gives up, instead watching Phil read, feeling him warm and soft and sticky in Clint’s ass, disregarding Clint’s cock pinned between them, disregarding _Clint,_ until Clint realizes Phil’s eyes haven’t moved, _Phil_ hasn’t moved, letting Clint wallow in the feeling of being dirty, of being used and ignored, and Clint moans around the plug in his mouth, fighting not to squeeze his ass, not wanting to risk pushing Phil out of his sloppy ass and losing that intimately filthy connection to Phil.

Clint rests his head back and watches as Phil intently pretends Clint isn’t there, though every now and then his cock twitches, giving away the game more thoroughly than his studious not-reading. Clint’s feeling sleepy and the lingering pain from his neglected cock and aching balls start to fade as his erection eases slightly. Then Phil yawns and Clint yawns back, suddenly feeling how late it is, they’ve been at this for hours and if he’s tired Phil must be exhausted.

Phil sets the tablet aside and runs his finger around the seam between Clint’s lips and the plug he’s been sucking to keep from drooling, “Remember to watch yourself.”

Clint nods and lets the spit gather in his mouth, getting the plug as slick as possible, Phil’s cock finally squelches out of Clint’s hole and he gets off to the side pushing on Clint’s knees until he draws them back and rocks his ass up so that Clint has a clear view of his asshole and the trickle of come that is oozing out in one fat drop. Clint gathers Phil’s come with the tip of the plug, shiny with Clint’s spit, and eases it into his ass. The plug settles in like it was made for Clint’s ass, he looks up to Phil for approval, and his cock bounces at the hungry look on Phil’s face, it changes to his blank unimpressed expression when he catches Clint looking. 

Phil shakes his head, “You’re a mess. Wait here.”

Phil closes the closet door on his way to the bathroom and an Clint takes it as a cue to get comfortable, or as comfortable as he can with balls this blue. He still has his legs up and he can feel that a lot of the heat has faded from his spanking; couple welts that will bruise nicely, though he can already tell they’ll be light enough that he won’t feel them unless he presses into them, and pressing into them has him moaning, cutting himself off as Phil snaps, “Cut that out. I didn’t say you could touch. In fact, you’re to keep your hands off your ass unless I say so,” as he comes out of the bathroom wearing pajama pants and carrying a towel, wet at one end.

Clint pouts, but as much as he wants to defiantly stroke the welts he lets his legs go, resting his feet and palms on the bed.

“Good b— slut,” Phil says and starts cleaning away all the lube, surprisingly, or maybe not so surprisingly gentle on Clint’s cock; the warmth is pleasant, as is the softness of the towel when he dries Clint off. He takes off the arm and thigh cuffs, his brow furrowed in concentration and his eyes burning into Clint’s skin. He reaches up and gently takes out Clint’s hearing aids and sets them aside and Clint feels more naked than if he had just given Phil a full strip tease.

When Phil’s done he turns out the lights and settles them under the covers, pulling Clint out of the wet spot and into a spooning position, Phil’s pajamas soothing against Clint’s sore ass; Clint tries an experimental wiggle and gets a slap on his hip, ineffective as it is through the bedclothes he still takes the reprimand to heart and settles down. 

He knows the sooner he falls asleep, the sooner the next part can happen and he feels equal parts fear and excitement and he has to distract himself or he’ll never get to sleep. He runs the specs for the new quinjet through his mind and eventually, impossibly, falls asleep; Phil’s breath on the back of his neck and his hand on Clint’s hip.


	8. Chapter 8

Clint starts awake and has a moment of panic as he feels the blunt head of a cock being pushed into his ass and then thrust full into him and it hurts almost but not quite too much. He knows he cries out but he can’t hear himself and it’s dark and hot and he can’t see, can barely move as he feels a hand on his sternum pulling him back against a hairy chest and fuck, that’s right, it’s Phil, and this is like nothing he imaged, both better and worse, the relief sweeter than the panic it followed.

He feels Phil’s hand make shapes against his skin, «OKAY?»

“Yes!” Clint gasps, or thinks he does, he nods for good measure, “Fuck yes, please, Phil?”

Phil takes Clint’s hand and presses it against Phil’s thigh, then he covers Clint’s mouth and starts fucking him hard, it’s permission for Clint to be as loud as he wants, to shout, to fight, and Phil will keep going unless Clint taps his leg. 

Clint digs his fingers into Phil’s thigh and, God, Phil’s not going easy on him. They’re still on their sides, but Phil has one arm under Clint, curving it around Clint’s waist and he starts jerking Clint’s soft cock roughly, quickly bringing him to full hardness. Phil’s cock is a steel rod invading his ass and his hand is holding Clint’s mouth closed while leaving his nose free; Clint thinks he moans in protest, he can feel it in his throat, but whether it’s not loud enough or or Phil just doesn’t care Clint can’t be sure.

Clint grabs Phil’s wrist and tries to stop him from pumping Clint’s cock even as he thrusts his hips back to take Phil deeper into his ass and Phil just tightens his grip until Clint lets go with a sob. He tries biting at Phil’s hand but Phil’s too good at this to let him and he keeps struggling until Phil’s hand drops to his throat and his teeth bite into the edge of Clint’s ear in warning; Clint stills except for a shiver or two and in reward Phil eases his hold on Clint’s cock, stroking it gently and then letting go to circle his belly button half a dozen times before following the smooth line where his treasure trail used to be before cupping his balls and, fuck, it feels good, especially with how it contrasts to the almost violent way Phil is reaming his ass and the solid band of his hand across Clint’s throat, his thumb digging in almost painfully behind Clint’s jaw. 

Phil strokes between Clint’s legs to where his cock is plunging in and out of Clint’s ass and Clint spreads his legs to give Phil more room. Phil uses this as an opportunity to force a finger in next to his cock and it’s too much, it’s too tight, and Clint yells and tries to pull away, but he also digs his fingers into Phil’s thigh deeply enough that Phil’s going to be wearing Clint’s bruises for a change. 

Phil’s finger disappears but before Clint can feel disappointed he slaps the inside of Clint’s thigh; Clint moans and he does it again. Clint writhes in Phil’s arms, every direction he moves bringing him some sort of pleasure, some sort of pain as Phil keeps slapping Clint as he fucks him, his grip pinching around Clint’s throat with every slap and Clint’s brain whites out for a moment, everything is pain and pleasure, pleasure and pain and then Phil’s coming in his ass at the same time he lets go of Clint’s dick and squeezes his balls and Clint doesn’t come, but it’s close. 

He lays there panting and strung out as Phil slips his cock out and quickly plugs him up. He can feel Phil wipe away come and lube and then he massages it into Clint’s skin. He kisses the back of Clint’s neck and then seems to think better if it as he bites hard enough to make Clint’s cock twitch and Clint to breathe out, “Oh you _bastard_.”

Phil’s chest vibrates against Clint’s back as he either chuckles, or maybe speaks, his breath a puff of air on Clint’s neck as he cuddles Clint close.

Clint’s practically vibrating, he's so on edge he thinks he’s never getting back to sleep when Phil starts stroking his side: shoulder to arm to waist to thigh, then starting over, smoothly, rhythmically, his chest a silent rumble against Clint’s skin. He drifts back to sleep with the press of Phil’s lips behind his ear.

The next time he wakes up he’s on his back and Phil is over him and in him and he moans, coming up to kiss Phil, their mouths awkward against each other in the dark until suddenly they slot together perfectly. Phil’s hands are pinning Clint’s hips down, Clint takes the opportunity to run his hands up Phil’s arms and around his neck, clinging to him as Phil fucks him so good he sees stars. 

Phil kisses up the side of Clint’s jaw and nibbles his earlobe and then starts fucking his tongue into Clint’s ear and out of all the things they do this is always the thing that makes Clint feel the dirtiest, the most vulnerable, and that Phil’s paired it with such tender fucking makes it feel all the more obscene to Clint, and he knows Phil knows it.

At least they’re doing this in the dark; they had tried once to have Clint watch while Phil did this to him and it was too much, one of the few times he’s actually safeworded out of a scene, and he loves that Phil’s found a way to give him something this intimate, this perverse, while keeping him safe, even if it’s only safe from Clint himself. 

“Phil-Phil-Phil,” he can’t help but chant Phil’s name and it does something to Phil, and he can feel Phil’s lips buzz against his ears and his strokes become frantic and he wonders if Phil is calling him names, telling him what a dirty little slut he is, and for a split second he debates not telling Phil, of letting himself come around Phil's cock with his tongue in Clint’s ear but he wants to be good more than he wants to come, “Phil, I’m gonna— I can’t— please let me come, please?”

Phil takes one of Clint’s hands off the back of his neck and presses it to the side of his face, his stubble scraping against Clint’s palm as he shakes his head, ‘no,’ and Clint whines and falls back into the pillows, biting his fist and digging his other hand into the mattress as he struggles not to come.

Phil does the opposite of helping, pinching Clint’s nipples and angling the strokes of his cock so that it’s punching out little gasps and moans out of Clint as he hits Clint’s prostate just right, “Phil, Phil, I’m telling you, I can’t, I _can’t,_ I’m going to come, I’m— noooo!” Phil pulls out of Clint’s abruptly and Clint feels the loss like a ship sinking out from under him, drenching him in icy waters, then he’s back on edge as he feels Phil come over his chest and stomach.

“Oh, God,” Clint says, as Phil wipes away his come and _fuck_ he isn’t just wiping it away, he’s pushing it into Clint’s ass, following it up with the plug. Then he collapses half on top of Clint, his knee pushing up almost uncomfortably against Clint’s balls. He bites Clint’s shoulder and then Clint feels his breathing change as he drifts off to sleep, leaving Clint hard and aching. 

He wakes up a couple more times in the night, once to Phil’s mouth around his cock, tight and wet and _perfect_ , but it seems like no sooner than he’s fully awake then Phil mouth is gone as if it’d never been there; Phil pulls Clint close and kisses the side of his neck before seeming to effortlessly fall back asleep. 

Sometime after that he wakes up Phil fucking him with his fingers, pushing more and more lube into Clint’s hole until he feels wet and loose, only to put the plug back without fucking him at all and it makes Clint want to cry. 

Another time he wakes up to Phil rubbing his cock against his lips as he strokes Clint’s cock with a warm hand and Clint gets the closest to coming that he’s been all weekend, which is saying something. 

He wondering if Phil would have made him come in his sleep and if so if he would punish Clint for it and that’s what really almost pushes him over the edge; though Phil coming down his throat is a close second, especially when he follows that by sweeping his finger into Clint’s mouth, exploring it fully before pulling out the plug and fucking him with that slick finger and then plugging him back up.

The last time Phil’s changed the window settings so that a little of the predawn light is filtering in, Clint can just make out the room spinning around him as Phil rolls him on to his stomach and doesn’t even pull out the plug, sliding lube slick fingers between his legs and fucking into the path he’s made between Clint’s thighs, the tip of his cock tapping against the back of Clint’s balls and it’s so frustratingly close to what Clint needs and Clint cries, begging, “Fuck me, fuck me, please, fuck me Phil,” but instead Phil comes between his thighs, only then removing the plug and pushing his come into Clint’s hole.

Sunday is even better than Saturday.

He wakes up to an almost identical scene from yesterday, Phil in his loose robe and pajama pants setting a breakfast tray on the nightstand, rubbing his fingers through Clint’s hair and handing him his ears as if he hasn’t spent all night trying to melt Clint’s brain. 

For a second he wonders if it was all a dream, but yesterday was waffles, not pancakes, and he’s all sort of sore and sticky and has his cuffs and collar on so it definitely wasn’t a dream and he groans and pushes down on his erection as the last 24 hours spill over him, “Fuck. I mean, Phil, _fuck,”_ he says as he puts in his aids, “This has been,” Clint stares at Phil and shrugs wide-eyed, completely lost for words. 

“Weekend’s not over, yet,” Phil resting a couple fingers under Clint’s chin and nudging upwards, and as he closes his mouth he remembers trying to keep it open all night for Phil and he shivers, “Breakfast in a second, first: Inspection.”

“I— now?” 

Phil raises his eyebrow. 

“Yes, Sir,” Clint crawls on top of the covers and turns his ass towards Phil, which puts him facing mirrors and he lets out a shocked, “Phil!” 

The windows are open and he knows the chances of anyone looking in is unlikely but he feels his whole body flush. He places his hands on his ass, but he can’t make himself pull his cheeks apart, “Phil,” he begs.

“Your breakfast is getting cold.”

“Please don’t make me do this?”

“Clint,” Phil’s warning is clear; if he doesn’t he won’t like the consequences. 

And Phil has probably made sure it was safe, that no one will actually see him, right?

“Alice’s plants will need to be watered soon…” Alice is the busybody across the street, out late each morning before the sun gets too high and again at dusk to water their plants and try to see what the neighbors are up to. 

Fortunately, theirs is the only balcony that can see directly into the window Phil has open. Unfortunately they’re a bigger gossip than Sitwell. Unless Clint wants to give them a show he needs to hurry up and get this over with. 

As threats go, it’s effective. 

“Fuck.”

Phil wouldn’t really make him do this if there was a risk of Alice seeing, right?

Unless he had talked to Alice first. 

Which is exactly something he would do. 

Clint blinks away tears and takes a bracing breath as he slowly exposes his plugged up hole.

“God, I love you smooth like this,” Phil says, tracing his fingers up and down Clint’s crack and then around the plug, “How’s your hole?” He asks as he pulls out the plug and replaces it with his fingers, almost clinical in the way they palpate him, “Sore?”

“N—not really, Sir. Please, hurry?”

“Things like this can’t be rushed, Clint. How does this feel?” He presses down on Clint’s prostate.

“Oh, _God,”_ he says louder than he means to, “Good, Sir, it feels good.”

“Good. I’m going to leave the plug out for a bit, it might give you a chance to tighten back up,” he pulls out his fingers and wipes them negligently on Clint’s ass, “Keep yourself spread, I’m going to check on you shortly.”

“No, please, Sir?” But he knows begging won’t help; he can only hope that they’ve already missed Alice or that this will be over before they come out. He definitely doesn’t hope that Phil’s asked them to be a part of their sex games, regardless of his cock’s opinion on the matter.

Phil ignores him, messing with the tray, getting it set exactly how he wants it and Clint is sure he can feel a breeze across his hole and he chokes back a sob.

There’s a final sounding _clink_ and then Phil’s up behind him, his fingers in Clint’s ass and he finger fucks Clint until he’s panting and fucking back against Phil’s fingers, forgetting about everything but the way Phil feels inside him and his incandescent need to come; all of which comes crashing down on him when Phil slaps his pleasantly sore ass with an open palm, “Well, those plants won’t wait forever.”

“I, what?!” Clint looks over his shoulder at an incredibly smug Phil.

“Oh, didn’t I tell you? Alice went out of town; I offered to take care of their plants while they’re gone.”

“You? You!” Clint picks up the pillow and whacks Phil with it, “I can’t believe you made me think— And they aren’t even home!” 

He tries to hit Phil again, but Phil grabs the pillow and uses it to pull Clint close, wrapping his other arm around Clint’s back and kissing him, it’s brutal, more a clash of teeth and tongues than a kiss and when Phil breaks it they're both panting. He lets go of the pillow and strokes the back of his fingers against the rough stubble of Clint’s jaw, “I’ll try to make sure they’re home next time,” and at Clint’s appalled gasp Phil kisses him again, this time with less fight and more apology and Clint allows himself to be pacified.

Phil rubs Clint’s lower lip with his thumb, “Eat your breakfast while I take care of this; I’ll be back soon.”

Phil changes into street clothes while Clint gets the tray settled in his lap, and Phil gives him a cheerful wave as he heads out. Clint wonders what the rest of the day has in store. 

Yesterday after serving him breakfast Phil had made love to him, kissing every inch of Clint’s body, slowly pulling his orgasm out like he spindles his yarn leaving Clint naked, sweating, and sated while he leaned back against the headboard and smugly did his crossword. 

He says he likes doing them in ink because it keeps him honest about his mistakes, that getting it wrong means sometimes leaving a permanent mark, but that a mistake doesn’t have to be the end of the world, sometimes it’s just part of the process. 

Clint thinks it’s that he’s a crossword snob. 

He’s mostly done with his pancakes, chasing around the last of the syrup with his last bite when he hears Phil singing the Stone’s _Satisfaction_ slightly off key from across the street. 

Clint’s drawn to the window despite himself, kneeling and resting his arms on the window sill. He smiles as he watches Phil dance around the balcony with a watering can as he sings to the plants. Alice usually goes with something poppy, but he’s sure they would appreciate the gesture. 

Phil catches him watching and Clint doesn’t like the look on his face, the feeling confirmed when Phil holds out his palm and draws his finger forward twice in quick succession, «INSPECTION.»

Horrified, Clint shakes his head, «NO!» then begs, palm circling his chest as he shakes his head «PLEASE NO.»

Phil tilts his head and presses his palm to his cheek, then draws his finger across his palm again, followed by both hands in upward facing ‘Y’s, «BED, INSPECTION, NOW.»

«PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE NO!»

Phil signs back, «BED INSPECTION WAIT, CORNER WAIT, YOUR CHOICE. NOW!»

Clint rests his head on his folded arms. _Fuck._

He actually goes to the corner first; it was one thing to expose himself like that when Phil was right there to watch over him, but this was asking too much. He delays, going to the bathroom and brushing his teeth, trying to hype himself into obey Phil’s order, but he can’t do it. 

He kneels on the cushion, and he always forgets how comfortable it is; he could stay here all day if he had too. He wonders what Phil will think when he comes back to find Clint in the corner instead of on the bed and he bites his lip to keep from crying. 

He lasts a minute, maybe more before he breaks, darting from the living room to the bedroom and hopping on the bed. He debates facing the window, Phil might let him get away with that, but he knows if he does he’ll be more disappointed in himself than if he had stayed in the corner. 

He shuffled around and bends over, exposing himself to the world. 

No. 

Not the world, to Phil. 

And he trusts Phil. If Phil is asking him to do this, then it has to be okay.

He doesn’t have long to wait until he hears the front door and the sound of Phil’s keys on the counter. Phil starts whistling _Satisfaction_.

“I knew you’d make the right call, slut.”

Oh, God, Phil is right, he is a slut. He’s been hard since he made the decision to obey and he whimpers.

“Hands and knees. Keep your legs spread, show everyone what a good slut you can be,” Phil says, and then his fingers, cold and slick with lube are in his ass, not fucking him, just pushed in with a slight tug of resistance, and Clint hangs his head and moans.

Phil leaves his fingers there until Clint shifts, and then he slaps Clint’s ass with his free hand, “Sorry! I didn’t mean to, Sir.”

“Since you seem to think what I want doesn’t matter—”

“Sir!”

“—You can choose which of these you’ll wear today,” Phil’s fingers slip out of him and there are three plugs tossed in front of him, the normal one, the biggest they have which is right out, there’s no way he can take a full day of that, and the evil plug that presses horribly/deliciously into his prostate. 

He reaches for the plain plug and looks up at Phil. Seeing his judgmental eyebrows, Clint aborts at the last second and holds up the curved plug.

“Hmm,” is all Phil says, and then he grabs the big plug and Clint whimpers. 

Damn it. 

Phil only lets him stew a second before picking up the other plug and taking the one from Clint’s hand. Clint tries not to tense up as he feels Phil part his cheeks and circle Clint’s hole with a slippery thumb. Clint moans as Phil presses his thumb in and begins stretching him out and he knows from experience it’s going to take a while to get him loose enough for the big plug.

It doesn’t take long until Clint is begging Phil to fuck him, to fill Clint up with his come before plugging him up, but Phil just continues to tease and tease. 

Finally, _finally_ he feels the blunt point of the plug at his hole and he sighs, the sound becoming disappointed when there isn’t as much pressure as he’s expecting and it’s the plain plug.

“No?” Phil asks.

“I thought it was going to be the big one, Sir?”

“Oh, no. That’s the one I would have chosen for you, but you wanted this one.”

“Please, Sir?”

“Please?”

“Please can I have the big one?” He asks, wondering what the hell is wrong with him, “I want what you want, Sir.”

“Hmm, and if I said I wanted to give you an enema before bathing you?”

Clint’s entire body shudders and he shakes his head before catching himself. He takes a deep breath and repeats himself, “I… I want what you want, Sir. I’m yours.”

Suddenly he’s in Phil’s arms and Phil is kissing him deeply, passionately and he surrenders, opening himself to Phil and letting him take whatever he wants. Clint’s almost tentative as he mates his tongue to Phil’s unsure in a way he never is, vulnerable and fragile.

The kiss loses its urgency, tapering off into slower, more gentle kisses, until Phil kisses Clint’s forehead and says, “Next time.”

Clint feels that same faint sense of disappointment and thinks maybe he’s more ready for that than he thought. 

But, it’s not something he needs to worry about for now, and besides, Phil will probably want to talk it to death before they actually do it. 

“Back in ‘inspection’.”

Clint’s languid as he slides out of Phil’s arms, on to his shoulders and knees, and holds himself open for Phil.

The plug slips out of him easily, and Phil tests out the stretch of Clint’s asshole, tugging on the rim, spreading his fingers while they're inside Clint. Seemingly satisfied he eases in the large plug with little resistance. 

“Ohhhhhh,” Clint moans low and long. He feels so full, he almost can’t breathe. Then Phil’s stroking a hand down his back and that last bit of tension he was feeling falls away and a lassitude sweeps over him.

“Come on, baby,” Phil says, and takes his hand leading him into the bathroom.

He has Clint kneel down on the soft bath mat as he draws the bath, coming to kneel behind him while the tub fills and wrapping his arms around Clint. He kisses the back of Clint’s neck, and then rubs his palms down Clint’s shoulders to play with his nipples. 

Clint moans, and then moans deeper as the sensation sings from his nipples to his groin and he tightens around the plug. His skin feels electrified and his whole body is throbbing sex sex sex.

Phil reaches down and strokes Clint’s cock, his grip firm and sure and Clint whines when Phil lets go to add a bath bomb. 

Phil strips while it fizzes and then takes Clint’s wrists one at a time, undoing his cuffs. He has Clint sit on the chilly edge of the bath while he removes his ankle cuffs, and then takes off his collar. 

Clint shivers at how naked he feels, but is quickly warmed back up by another series of long drugging kisses from Phil.

Phil draws his finger over Clint’s ear, “In or out?”

Clint’s having trouble thinking; his BTE’s are water resistant, but that doesn’t mean he likes to push them, “Out? Will you?”

Phil’s gentle like he always is when Clint lets him do this, and Clint trembles with how extremely naked he now feels. 

Phil leaves him there for a moment as he sets aside Clint’s aids and lights a dozen candles before turning off the light. He helps Clint into the tub and then follows, settling in behind Clint, his cock firm against Clint’s backside, his arms warm around him as they sink into the water. 

Phil uses a washcloth to massage Clint’s shoulders, and Clint melts into him, he feels surrounded by warmth, inside and out. Phil’s hapazard in a way that he usually isn’t, washing one arm before having Clint lay back further so he can scrub his chest, stroking Clint’s cock with the washcloth that had felt so soft on the rest of his skin but pleasantly abrasive on his cock, then it’s Phil’s gun calloused hand both smooth and rough and, God, he wants Phil’s hands on him all of the time.

He wonders if Phil is going to go back on his word and let Clint come; when Clint has asked for it he was still riding high on yesterday morning’s orgasm which now feels like a lifetime ago. He would ask but everything seems so far away, like he’s in a cocoon of pleasure. 

He slowly starts thrusting up into Phil’s hand until Phil stops him with a light touch in his hip and Clint sighs as he settles back against Phil.

Phil keeps him on that edge of contentment and longing for an endless about of time, and Clint’s groggy and loose on his feet when Phil finally has him stand up. Phil supports him under the shower until he gets his balance and then slowly washes Clint’s hair. 

Rinsed clean of soap and glitter, Phil pushes on Clint’s shoulder and taps his arms until he’s bent over, palms on the tile and Phil tenderly eases out the plug and Clint sighs at how empty he feels. Phil grabs the shower lube and slicks up his cock; Clint moans as Phil starts fucking him nice and slow. 

Phil’s hands touch him all over, feeling cool where the hot water hits him and warm where it doesn’t and he feels surrounded and filled. 

Phil doesn’t come in him, instead he smells the sharply pleasant citrus of their body wash and Phil’s clever fingers thoroughly wash Clint’s asshole.

Completely rinsed and cleaned, Phil leads Clint out of the shower and dries him off before holding up Clint’s aids in the flickering candlelight with a questioning look.

«YOU?» Clint asks.

Phil circles two fingers over and then taps the back of his fist with a smile, «OF COURSE.»

The bathroom is silent except for the occasional drip from the shower head and their breathing.

Instead of speaking, Phil signs, «TURN AROUND.»

Phil kisses the back of his neck and slips his collar around Clint’s throat buckling it so that it’s not too tight, but by no means loose. He turns Clint back around with a light touch on his shoulder and then lifts each wrist, kissing them before buckling on his cuffs. 

Phil gets down on one knee and lifts Clint’s foot to rest on the other, bringing it high enough to press his lips to the inside of Clint’s ankle and putting on that cuff, repeating his actions with Clint’s other ankle before standing and pressing a chaste kiss to Clint’s lips.

«READY?»

Clint breaks the silence, “Yes, Sir.”

“On the bed, slut, on your back, head over the edge.”

“Oh, yes, Sir!” Clint feels his excitement spike in anticipation of the deep dicking his throat is about to receive. 

Phil doesn’t make him wait, before long Phil’s balls are tapping his nose it’s all he can do to control his breathing and be a willing hole for Phil’s cock.

When Phil gets close he says, “Don’t swallow,” and starts fucking his face with shorter strokes, “Fuck. Fuck, _Clint,”_ is all the warning Clint gets, but he manages to not swallow, letting Phil’s come fill his mouth, and then Phil is kissing him, sweeping his come into his own mouth.

He stands and points to fingers at his eyes and then the mirror, ordering Clint, «WATCH.»

He climbs onto the bed and lifts Clint’s knees back and apart. His reflection shakes an upturned fist in a tight circle, «HOLD.»

Clint’s a little shaky as he obeys, and tentatively asks, “Sir?”

«STAY,» Phil signs one handed as he gets down in between Clint’s legs.

All Clint can see is the top of Phil’s head and then Phil’s pulling apart Clint’s cheeks and pressing his mouth against Clint’s hole. He spits his come into Clint’s ass and it’s all Clint can do not to squirm, alternating between holding his breath and short little gasps. Phil uses his tongue to keep pushing his come into Clint’s hole, taking time to circle the firm tip of his tongue around it before thrusting in.

“Phil! Sir! I— Please,” Clint begs, not sure if he wants Phil to keep going or to stop.

Either way, Phil relents his assault taking the plain plug and pushing it in after his come.

He grabs Clint’s collar and pulls him up into a devastating kiss, pushing his tongue in and around Clint’s mouth like he had Clint’s ass and Clint thinks maybe he could come just from this, if Phil would let him.

The rest of the day he feels owned and degraded in all the best ways; Phil ‘inspects’ him once an hour like clock work, but also randomly through the day. Sometimes fucking him, sometimes leaving him aching with need. He uses Clint in every way, fucking him over every surface, in every corner, on the floor, everywhere he looks is a memory of the weekend burned into his brain. Phil had tried to warn him, tried to tell him he was going to get more than he bargained for when he said he wanted Phil to fuck him as much as possible, but no one could be prepared for this.

Clint has always been indifferent to any gun he may use, in the broad scheme of things they’re all the same to him, interchangeable, disposable, never worth hanging onto. 

His bow on the other hand is his life. The only thing more precious to him is Phil, he would snap it in half if Phil asked; not that he can, it’s survived several explosions and will likely out last Clint.

Phil still treats him as a slut to be used, his holes, his _existence_ belongs to Phil, his to do with as he pleases but Clint sees it now, he isn’t Phil’s gun, he’s his bow, he doesn’t just feel owned, he feels cherished.

He gets spanked a couple more times, though never as intensely as the night before, and never enough to make him come, just enough to keep him on edge. Once was for swallowing Phil’s come without permission and another time for mouthing off.

After dinner Phil has him lay out on the cleared table and drips hot wax all over his body, laying special attention to his cock and the smooth shaved area around it and between his legs, even with it being as low temp as it is, he screams when Phil drips it onto his asshole, for once not filled with either a plug or Phil’s cock. Phil peals off all the wax with slow, sadistic satisfaction, and then does it again before fucking him, filling him back up with come, and plugging him. 

Phil watches TV for a bit, Clint acting as Phil’s cockwarmer, on his knees first with his mouth then with his ass, laying with his chest across the ottoman, Phil smacking him every time he moves. 

Eventually he’s allowed to squeeze his ass as long as he’s pinching his nipples as he does so and Phil doesn’t make it halfway through the next episode efore he’s fucking Clint hard, coming inside him, plugging him up and then making Clint lick Phil’s cock and balls clean. 

“Since you felt the need to interrupt my show, you can be my entertainment,” Phil says and has Clint sit on the ottoman and facing him, “Touch yourself the way you want me to. Don’t hold back and don’t come.”

Clint is pretty sure those are mutually exclusive but he does his best to make a good faith effort.

He starts by wrapping his hand around his throat, not squeezing, just holding, and he circles first one nipple than the other. He gradually increases the pressure on his throat as he starts pinching and twisting his nipples, digging his nails in as he starts having trouble breathing until Phil says, “Move on.”

Clint pouts but obeys, scratching his nails up and down his chest with his head thrown back and his legs splayed. He scratches up his arms across his shoulders and back down his chest, moaning as he feels his precum welling up. He starts pinching his nipples again as he reaches down and presses his thumb into his slit pushing out more precum until he gathers it on his fingertips and then sucks it off, fellating his fingers and moaning. He starts stroking his cock as he pushes his fingers deeper into his mouth. When he makes himself gag and choke he squeezes his balls hard enough to bring tears to his eyes, but he doesn’t stop.

Phil’s already hard again, jacking off as he watches Clint abuse himself for Phil’s pleasure and Clint could come from this so very easily, but he makes himself hold back, praying that Phil will let him come tonight instead of making him wait until tomorrow. 

“May I play with my ass, Sir?”

“I’ll allow it.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Clint says, wasting no time in pulling the plug out as he continues to squeeze his balls.

“On the condition that you tell me everything you’re feeling.”

Clint makes a distressed sound and starts to put the plug back, but Phil says, “Oh no, it’s too late for that.”

“Sir,” Clint whines.

Phil just raises an eyebrow and Clint bows his head, sighing in defeat.

“It— I feel… slutty. And—,” he breaks off with a moan as he pushes two fingers into his hole and starts stroking his cock, “And dirty. I like it. I like being on display for you. Wish it was your fingers, your cock filling me up. Oh, God, fuck me again; please, Sir? I’m your—,” he feels himself blush head to toe and moans, fucking his fingers in, harder, faster. They squelch, full as he is of lube and come and he switches so that he can suck his dirty fingers.

“You’re my what?” Phil growls, a dangerous look in his eyes.

“Yours, Sir,” he mumbles around his finger, and then goes back to stroking his cock as he fingers himself, “I’m yours.”

Phil looks pleased but says, “That isn’t what you were going to say.”

Clint whines, “I’ll come, Sir, please don’t make me say it.”

Now he looks dangerous and pleased as he says, “You will tell me, and you won’t come.”

Clint whimpers and shakes his head, panting as he brings himself right to the edge, “I’m close, Sir, please?” Not sure if he’s begging to come or begging to stop pleasuring himself.

Phil’s suddenly on top of him, one hand pulling down tight on his balls, the other around his neck and he’s almost pushed over as Phil snarls, “Tell me!” And Clint cries out, “I’m your fuck toy! I’m your dirty slut, Sir, oh, please, Sir, _please?”_

“Don’t you dare come!” Phil says, letting go of Clint’s balls and and replacing Clint’s fingers with his dick, he fucks Clint so hard that they fall off the ottoman but Phil just keeps fucking Clint, one hand around his throat and the other stroking his cock, “Pinch your nipples for me my sweet fuck toy, I want to hear you moan.”

“Oh, God, _Phil!”_ Clint cries out breathlessly and obeys.

“Like that, sweetheart, like that, I can’t— I love you so much, Christ, I can take it anymore, come here baby, come here,” he rocks back, pulling Clint into his lap until Clint’s fully seated on his cock, “Ride me, my slut, I want to see you come on my cock.”

“Oh, fuck, really, Phil? Really?” He asks as he starts fucking himself of Phil’s cock, “Please, please don’t tease me now, it’s too much, tell me you mean it?”

Phil keeps jerking him off and resettles his hand at Clint’s throat, “I mean it, I mean it. I love you Clint, come for me, come for me now!”

Clint’s orgasm is pull from him like a speeding freight train and stripe after stripe of come streaks across Phil’s chest, beading in his chest hair at the same time Phil comes inside him and he feels incandescent, like everything is made of light and pure unfiltered pleasure.

Clint collapses into Phil, his come smearing between them in a sticky mess. After a few seconds of heavy breathing he sighs, “Fuck me. I think that may have been the best orgasm of my life. Definitely top three.”

“Top three?” Clint can hear his smile, “What are the other two?”

“Yesterday morning and our first time.”

“Our first time? God I was so awkward. I couldn’t believe it was real.”

“You were amazing, no one had ever made me feel that way, made me feel the way I do every day I’m with you, I love you so much, Phil,” Clint kisses him, slow and sweet, “I will always love you.”

“I love you, too, Clint, you’re everything to me.”

They stay in each other’s arms, a sated mess, until the their sweat starts to cool and Phil leads an exhausted Clint into the bedroom. Phil gently cleans Clint up then settles him into bed before cleaning himself up. 

Phil turns off the light when he comes back and cuddles Clint close, Clint’s head resting on Phil’s chest where he can feel the beat of his heart.

“Happy birthday, baby; was Clint’s Fantasy Weekend everything you hoped it would be?”

“Better. Oh my God, Phil. Oh. My. _God._ But, uh, maybe this could be an only sometimes thing?”

“Oh thank God. That was the hardest thing I’ve ever done— it was worth it,” Phil says, “But you have no idea how hard it was not to tell you how amazing you are all the time, how proud you make me, and how much I love you. I would do anything for you Clint, you know that, right? _Anything.”_

“Of course you would,” Clint says with no small amount of satisfaction, “I’m yours.”

Several kisses later Clint says, “Oh and Phil? If I find out you even _think_ about replacing me with another sub I swear to God I will kill you and I will make it slow.”

“Oh, _Clint!”_ Phil crushes Clint to him, plundering Clint’s mouth and Clint knows his message was received. 

Because Phil is his, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, I’m no longer sure I should try writing 500 word fics, this one completely drained me 
> 
> I’m also not sure I should be writing high. Stoned Para is a flithy fucking monster.
> 
> This ended up being a fic about characters that are aware that they are in a porn fic, so that was fun.
> 
> I’m so sorry for the bait and switch, y’all, I really did intend this to be a PWP.
> 
> Any interest in seeing this all from Phil’s perspective? It would be the debrief afterwards with Phil reflecting on/flashing back to how he was feeling and what he was thinking. Yes? No? Bueller? 
> 
> I’m also debating a sequel (trilogy if I do Phil’s side) with an enema and fisting, that would (in theory) be shorter. 
> 
> You can hit me up on social media here:  
> Twitter: @ParaprosdokiaCC  
> Ko-fi: https://ko-fi.com/paraprosdokia  
> Patreon: https://ko-fi.com/paraprosdokia  
> Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/paraprosdokia


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